


The World That Faded Away / The Boy That Time Forgot

by MU_I



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Dark Dipper Pines, Demon Dipper Pines, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Gore, M/M, Magic, Manipulation, Possessive Bill Cipher, Slow Burn, slow burn thawed out to a flamethrower
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-11-13 15:09:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 50
Words: 161,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11187690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MU_I/pseuds/MU_I
Summary: When life hit Dipper Pines it hit Dipper Pines hard. Train wreck hard. This was a statement that all who knew the boy could agree on.Life had taken a liking to the boy in the same way a feline had taken a liking to a particularly delicious mouse; it had trapped him, toyed with him, before swallowing him whole.As a result, the eighteen year old had horrific luck and a habit of getting himself and others into extremely bad situations.Like selling his soul to Bill CipherWho is only too happy to take what is, and has always been, his.Updates 11.30 EST, 8.30 PST, 15.30 GMT Thursdays





	1. A Hopelessly Depressing Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Woop time for Billdip baby! When you’re bored, (in)sane, and have an obsession for shipping a talking Dorito and an innocent brunette. 
> 
> Yeah heads up, that brunette ain’t gonna stay so innocent. This is gonna get dark, and I ain’t talking grab-a-flashlight dark, I’m talking murder, torture, yada yada illegal stuff. Just going to say I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THAT STUFF – murder and rape are wrong people! But well Bill’s not exactly the type to court with flowers and love songs (Deer tooth, anyone?). 
> 
> Poor Dip Dop caught the attention of the wrong demon. If there’s even the right kind of demon to fall in love with. Please don’t hate Bill, he just wants that D(ipper) so bad, what’s a little manipulation and murder? Depending on timing, each week will have 2 or 3 updates, mostly cuz we gotta get through over 30 chapters.  
> ~ MUI

Bill grunted with the effort as he pulled the unresponsive body closer, cradling it against his chest like a mother held their new-born babe. He tried to ignore how weak the fluttering heart beat felt beneath his fingers, how pale the skin was quickly turning, how each breath was literally forced out of their mouth.

He combed his hair through their curls, fingers coming away slick with blood. The ugly scorch marks had left the boy practically unrecognisable, no sign of identification had been left, save for the striking depiction of the constellation that crowned his forehead.

“Oh Pine Tree,” he murmured softly in the charred remains of Dipper Pines’ ear as in the distance a door slammed, the angry voices echoing behind it eerily distorted behind the metal frame. “How did it come to this?”


	2. Close encounters of the Twin Kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! Have an immediate follow-up chapter because I've already written up to chapter 6!

When life hit Dipper Pines it hit Dipper Pines hard. Train wreck hard. This was a statement that all who knew the boy could agree on. Life had taken a liking to the boy in the same way a feline had taken a liking to a particularly delicious mouse; it had trapped him, toyed with him, before swallowing him whole. As a result, the eighteen year old had horrific luck and a habit of getting himself and others into extremely bad situations. Another statement those closest to him would confirm.

Like the time he’d gone searching for pixies and come face to face with a horde, group, gaggle? Of gremloblins. He’d escaped but it had taken an awfully long time to convince Mabel he’d needed to borrow her concealer, purely for ‘medicinal purposes’, after she had walked in on him searching through her make up bag. If Grunkle Stan had seen the full extent of the damaged boy he knew unescorted trips to the forest would have been banned.

 Or when he had (reluctantly) allowed Mabel to make their sixteenth birthday cake entirely out of Smile Dip mix. Mistakes had been made. It was only days later that he’d finally received the last of many hallucinations; unless at some point he really had grown bright pink deer antlers. Even now the sight of the forbidden – not that that had ever stopped Mabel – mixture had his fingers raking frantically through his curled locks, desperately hoping not to discover a second pair of fuchsia stubs growing out of his head. 

Or like five seconds ago, when he had carefully opened the shack door, hoping to slip unnoticed upstairs to his room, and instead found himself face to face with a very, very angry twin sister standing in the middle of the kitchen, her foot slamming down against the rotting tiles furiously in a crude representation of Thumper from Bambi. He grimaced; life had just thrown him a ticking bomb and yelled “Catch!” In his ear.

Over the years Mabel Pines had grown tall enough to be intimidating, so that as the door swung open to reveal her bristling figure Dipper actually shivered. The chocolate mane that fanned her face now curled inwards at her hip, tamed only by a familiar red hairband, of which she seemed to have access to an endless supply of. Her rounded face had lost its pre-teen chubbiness; her cheekbones were now pronounced and elegant, whilst her eyes blinked owlishly out from beneath lashes subtlety licked by mascara. Unsurprisingly, Gideon wasn’t the only creep going after Mabel now.

Despite the lack of braces – she’d had them removed after their fifteenth birthday – and multitude of stickers plastered to her face she had retained her childlike innocence. Somewhat. The recipe for Mabeljuice had been added to significantly after the discovery of vodka; thank you Wendy, so that now the energy drink was also a one-stop ticket to hangoverville. Yet her penchant for homemade sweaters had persevered; her wardrobe upstairs and the space around it remained a mish-mash of colours, sparkles and glitter. Today’s sweater was a new creation; red stitching neatly spelling out, I’m a cool dude, whilst the image of a blue ice cube with googly eyes and a smiling face tacked on stood out clearly against a purple background.

“Mason Dipper Pines.” Shit. He was screwed. Mabel never used his actual name. Not unless she was seriously pissed. But it wasn’t like he’d skipped out on Mystery Twin Adventure Time to sneak out to find a mermaid . Or like he’d left her to cover his shift without any explanation. And his clothes definitely weren’t sticking to his dripping wet skin after he totally hadn’t been dragged into the water by said mermaid in an attempt to ‘invite’ him into her home, which, note to self, was not human friendly; something the journal had failed to mention. He was sure he’d be having not-so-pleasant nightmares of drowning for weeks.

Except he had skipped out. He had left her to cover his shift.  And his clothes were sticking to his sodden skin. A small puddle was already forming at his feet, any longer and he’d have to come up with a flash-flood excuse to explain the new miniature pond by the busted-up microwave to Grunkle Stan.

He’d been promising Mabel to help find one for weeks. After the Celestabellebethabelle incident Mabel had quickly renounced her love for unicorns, instead choosing a new mythical being to obsess over regularly. Last month had been the unfortunate choice of phoenixes. Trying to grab a bird made entirely of fire? Not a good idea. The sudden disappearance of one of his favourite shirts had been easy to explain, the giant gaping hole burnt through the middle of the fabric not so much.

This month’s lucky winner had been mermaids. Which, judging from the fairy tales, should have been perfect, after all what’s so bad about catchy musical numbers and shell bras? Annoying and inconvenient sure, but harmless. Except according to the journal, in real life freshwater mermaids had a love for the pastime of drowning girls. Turns out mermaids also had a thing for trying to drown men.  But instead of eating the corpse they kept them to live with below the surface.

A fact Ford’s notes had conveniently failed to mention. He briefly wondered if his Great Uncle had shared his experience but been too embarrassed to record it. Luckily mermaids were affected by mace. 

“H-ey Mabes,” he winced at the voice crack – though much rarer nowadays it was still an occurrence that no amount of surviving puberty had fixed, and despite being a solid two inches taller, it meant he was still subjected to random outbursts of AL-PHA TWIN! AL-PHA TWIN! Each chant punctuated by an exclamation mark and an upwards fist punch.

“Where. Were. You?”

Truth. Lie. Truth. Lie. Truth. Lie. 

“Just outside. Taking a walk.” No voice crack. Just play it cool. Hopefully she couldn’t hear his heart hammering against his chest in its newly found desperation to escape the confines of his flesh. Any minute now he expected it to jump out his throat, sprout two legs and skip off underneath the kitchen table, no doubt to keep the sentient wax head of Larry King company.

She raised her eyebrow, eyes narrowing, locking them both into a stare-down. “A walk” she echoed, disbelief crackling in her voice. He hated how hurt she sounded. “And a fully clothed bath. Dipper, the last time I saw you bathe voluntarily was three weeks ago, and that was only because you fell into that nest of scampfires and got covered in all that spider gunk.”

Dipper swallowed nervously, praying to whatever deity existed before answering. “Yeah, heh, funny story,” he laughed, but even to him it sounded like a strangled hyena crossed with a choking donkey having a fit. Mabel pursed her lips, but stayed silent, watching him expectantly.

“So I may have been outside findingamermaidandfalleningottagonowbye.” He dashed past her, not waiting for her reply, taking the stairs two at a time, only stopping when he’d slammed his bedroom door behind him.

The two of them had separate rooms now, due to Ford’s insistence after they hit fifteen. Mabel had protested at first, but soon caved when she realised separate rooms meant more space for sweaters. Dipper didn’t mind, it meant he wasn’t forced to listen to the shrieks whenever Mabel had a sleepover and was less likely to be forced into surprise karaoke sessions.

He knew full well that the conversation wasn’t over; just delayed. Another night of flight before fight. He sighed, back protesting slightly as he leaned his body against the wood for a moment, allowing himself to wallow in self-pity.

It wasn’t that Dipper wanted to avoid the issue. He just didn’t know how to deal with it. Mabel was the social butterfly, the popular one. People remained a mystery to him; an unsolvable mystery that he just didn’t have the heart to attempt to solve. It was one of the many differences that as time progressed had become so painfully obvious between the twins and had driven them so far apart. 

Mabel had her friends, Dipper had his books. The two lived in different worlds now; their only interactions that weren’t Mabel dragging a reluctant Dipper off to parties were mostly Mystery Twin Adventure Days. He felt a stab of guilt but pushed it down; if Mabel had been there the mermaid encounter would have gone a lot worse. Drowning would have been the least of their worries. It had been for her own safety that he’d left her behind. Hopefully she’d understand that.

He shrugged off his drenched clothes, grabbed a nearby towel and glanced at the mirror standing by his bed. Like his twin, puberty had hit Dipper like a brick to the face. That is to say, extremely hard. The daily run-for-your-life routine had paid off over the last six years; although he was nowhere in the region of steroid-guzzling sports champion, the boy had bulked up; even Manly Dan had grudgingly paid his respects when he’d scored Manly Man on Lazy Susan’s newly rebuilt Manliness Tester, finally making good on the promise of free pancakes he’d made all those years ago.  Though he was still lacking in the department of chest hairs.

Like Mabel, he’d lost his rounded face, his jawline becoming sharper and more pronounced. Fortunately the initial sudden bouts of acne had cleared up, so that now his skin was virtually spotless, though his birth mark remained, hidden just out of sight by the shaggy fringe.

His hair had retained its curls, though they were pinned in place by the blue and white trucker hat that was now dog-eared and peppered with scuff marks. As a result of today it was also now soggy, and he placed it gingerly down on the bedside cabinet, hoping it would make a recovery. Unlike Mabel, he didn’t have access to an unlimited supply of the accessory – Grunkle Stan had either sold them all or hidden the box they’d come in – and he’d be sorry to see it go. It was like an old friend to him. A battered, scuffed old friend, with a torn hole large enough to fit his pinkie through poking out of their back.

Mabel had tried to set him up with people, and despite his loner status he’d been asked out for dates a couple of times, by girls and guys, it wasn’t that they’d gone badly. It wasn’t that he was Bi – he was fine with that. He’d just never been interested. Even his pre-teen Wendy infatuation had long dried up.

Deeming himself sufficiently dry, he sat on the edge of the bed, pulled out the journal and began to update the notes. Between his and Ford’s own adventures there were now a total of 8, almost 9, of the books that were scattered around the shack. Ford kept most of them downstairs in the lab, but Dipper’s own additions, numbers 4, 6 and 7, were nestled along the dust-free bookshelf in the corner of his room. 

 **Saltwater merpeople are friendly and outgoing**. – At least according to Mabel, though remembering Mermando, she may have been biased – **Freshwater merpeople appear to be the dangerous of the two. DO NOT enter their territory without at the least basic protection, female intruders will be attacked on sight, whilst males must be cautious lest they be dragged to a watery grave. Vulnerable to mace.**

He sketched a rough image of the mermaid he’d encountered – he wasn’t anywhere near as good an artist as Mabel, but he wasn’t about to go send his twin off to the very monster he’d been protecting her from in order to get a better portrait. He highly doubted the mermaid would just sit still and allow herself to be drawn, even if it was by a top of her class arts and crafts student.

He shuddered as he etched the mermaid’s hands; attempting to forget the feeling of those same hands that had been very real as they’d held him beneath the water. Just another near-death experience to add to the roster.

He yawned when he’d finished, trying to ignore the oncoming headache he could already feel poking at his mind. Lately his dreams had been interesting to say the least, and he suspected it was the work of a certain dream demon. 

Surprisingly, after the events of Mabel’s Sock Opera, Bill had mostly left him alone, with the exception of giving him particularly horrible nightmares. Then again, **dream** demon. That was expected. He’d wake up screaming with Bill’s maniacal laughter ringing in his ears like some zany possessed alarm clock.

Then there was the time when he’d sworn he saw the shadow of a triangle watching him from the woods, but he’d blinked and it had gone, so he’d blamed it on sleep deprivation. But other than that and the odd unexplained practical joke – which could just have easily have been the work of a poltergeist – the demon had seemingly disappeared. 

And yet every night Dipper was painfully aware of the shadows that sometimes distorted themselves enough for him to see a floating top hat and a long thin hand clutching a cane.

He shuddered, glancing at the triangle-shaped window that seemed to be always watching. It shocked him how easily he could imagine a blinking eye in the middle of the pane. You’re just seeing things. He told himself. You’re stressed over the almost drowning thing and your mind is playing tricks on you. _He’s not there. He can’t see you. He can’t see you_. His mind repeated feverishly. Dipper wished that simply repeating it would allow him to believe himself.

He closed the journal, dropping it on the floor; too exhausted to sit up and reach to place it beside his worn hat. But even as he rested on the wooden frame, allowing his eyelids to flutter as sleep pulled at their edges seductively, he couldn’t help but recall Bill’s words.

 _ **Always watching**_.

Bill couldn’t see him. Right?


	3. Dream Demon Downtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw poor Bill ~ he just needs a hug. Huhuhu but pink antlers, really? I’ve always been a fan of Monster Falls AU, so this is my brief tribute to Deerper, at least for now.  
> What could our favourite demon be planning?

Bill was bored. No, that was an understatement. Bill was completely and utterly frustrated at the very universe for holding absolutely nothing that was good enough to hold his attention span for any longer than a decade.

With a silent sigh his mind flickered back to the interesting years – when meatbags piled fleshy lumps after fleshy lump onto stone altars, the bodies shrieking with fear at the sight of the blade that would come slamming down into their chest again and again, but not enough to kill – never enough to kill that early – as behind them hooded shapes read scriptures and prayed to their saviour as the crimson liquid ran down the steps, quickly pooling at the feet of the huddled masses who watched as the torture progressed, enraptured…good times.

With a grunt and a flicker of annoyance he surveyed the world, shuddering at how.. _peaceful_ …it had become. Was it too much to ask for a couple hundred human sacrifices every now and then? Apparently so.

He huffed, growling aloud. Messing with meatsacks, especially those of the Pines variety, was only so much fun “ ** _WHEN YOU’RE FUCKING INCORPOREAL”_** _._

His entire body burst into an angry red hue, and the other residents of the space, who by then should have been used to the regular occurrence and have known to stay away in the first place so they had only themselves to blame, scattered in panic, and he realised that he’d actually screamed the latter part of his thoughts aloud, his words echoing across the void that surrounded him, before they were gone, lost to the deafening silence.

It was difficult to describe the Mindscape. Not some poor meatsack’s Mindscape, but the actual, original, thing. The only word that came even slightly close to that question would be madness. Pure, unfettered, madness. It was simultaneously the most beautiful landscape and the ugliest place Bill had ever laid eye upon. Up was down, down was up, the floor was the sky and the sky the floor.

It was completely devoid of any remarkable landmark, or any landmark, for that matter. The void was exactly as it was named; a void of space that simply stretched. Its existence was just that; an idea that had taken form and shape and now existed. Whose idea, Bill did not know. There were some things that even he could not see. Not that he ever admitted it; only-slightly-omniscient-when-it-came-to-certain-matters was not a good brand.

The whole place was not devoid of colour, but an explosion of it; bursts of too-bright pinks, purples, oranges and reds, that mingled together to form an odd combination of them all, the full extents of which no human mind could comprehend without first losing a good deal of their sanity, which is why, he supposed, mortals’ versions of it were completely greyscale. After all, it wasn’t like demons could complete deals with jabbering, incoherent inhabitants of insane-asylums.

A shape of something that hadn’t been fast enough released an agonised howl as its entire body burst into brilliant blue flames, instantly swallowed by the heated coils that vanished as suddenly as they had roared into existence, leaving behind just as much evidence of the creature that had stood there only moments ago.

The things around him were so dumb. So uninteresting. They were brainless enough to just wander the void without even attempting to escape it. Even watching them burn alive held no satisfaction; not when any pain was merely an imagination of something that should have been felt.

He missed being able to feel that pain. Hell, he almost missed that stuck up, white-haired hick ass Gideon – not that he would ever admit that either – even if only because all his summonings afterwards had been so dull. Wealth, power, blah blah blah. So predictable. Sure, he’d tricked them. But what was the point of taking pride in tricking idiots? Some of them had begged for mercy. He snorted at the memory. Whoever asked for mercy from a demon?

A brief image of Pine Tree screeching in surprise as his reflection showed a very confused deer boy flashed in his mind, slightly calming the seething demon. That look on his face? Priceless! Once again, he congratulated himself on the act. Bright pink had been a good colour on the kid, who even now was still paranoid that he’d wake up with another impressive rack. He toyed briefly with the idea of giving the kid deer-legs, turn him full on into one of those creatures he loved so much.

He giggled at that, but his rage soon returned. It always did. Out of the Mindscape, Bill Cipher, the all-powerful dream demon, had been reduced to being a fucking prankster. Worse, other than when summoned, he could only pull himself out of the realm for mere moments before he was dragged back to this prison. And doing that fucking hurt.

The last time he’d managed, he’d only caught a glimpse of a blue and white hat disappearing into the darkened bushes before his body screamed in protest and he was forced to return to the void, incinerating any inhabitants within a forty metre radius upon re-arrival.

He snarled. Bill had plans. BIG plans. And none of them involved being stuck in this waste of space any longer than he already had been. All he needed was a pawn. An easy to use agent who he could trick into getting him out. And have some fun along the way with.

A sudden yet unmistakable yelp caught his attention, and his form flickered, leaning forwards in interest, feeling the sharpened tug he had become so accustomed to over the years. Bill had carried through on his promise of always watching, and now it was practically second nature for him to rifle through the residents of Gravity Falls before coming to a sudden halt. He couldn’t stop his fingers from falling in successive excited taps, and he hummed, drumming them against the conjured sphere which had slowly formed in front of his eye. In the middle of which an image was quickly piecing itself together.

Pine Tree was having a nightmare, running from some unknown thing, racing through the forest as if his life depended on it. Which, knowing the boy’s knack for attracting danger, it probably did. The outline of Shooting Star appeared at the sphere’s edges, and he watched in rapt fascination, as the chaser switched targets, and Pine Tree stared, frozen, as his sister disappeared into the creature’s maw. The grief-stricken scream that followed was simply scrumptious. The picture morphed, and suddenly a flurry of bubbles rose to its surface, a hand pushing frantically at the sphere, banging at its walls in its bid to escape. As the minutes progressed the hand seemed to lose its urgency, before it finally fell limp and allowed itself and its owner to be dragged down deeper, out of sight.

In the darkness, Bill Cipher smiled, the grin stretching almost all the way to his edges. He raised a hand, ghosting it over the boy, who by now was a mere lonely speck in the depths that he was quickly sinking through. Were it not for the dark glint in the being’s eye it would seem caring, loving, almost. _Pine Tree._

So soft. **_EeNiE_**

 So innocent. **_MeeNiE_**

So interesting. **_MiNIe_**

So corruptible.

**_YoU._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the character introductions over, so get ready for shit to go down next chapter. 
> 
> Also, one huge thank you to everyone who has read this so far, it's my first ever fic and you guys are awesome! Let's go on a journey together, a beautiful, smutty, tragic journey, cuz if I'm going to Hell for this I sure am going to drag as many of you as I can down with me


	4. Here Wolf, There Wolf, Wherewolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dipper gets a free pony ride and Bill bags a slave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Knock knock. “Let me in,”  
> Crooned the wolf with a seductive grin.  
> “Not by the hair of my chinny chin chin,”  
> Replied the little pig with a whimper.  
> As the wolf began to force its way in.

Dipper had a lot of experience running for his life. As of his thirteenth birthday it had practically become expected. It was surprising how many times a trek to the forest to search for a peculiar fauna or particular creature would end with him huffing out of breath behind the shack’s door. The trips that didn’t culminate in an impromptu and dangerous game of tag were a welcome but rare occurrence. Except now he was running for his life, whilst dragging Mabel. Not for the first time that day he regretted allowing her along.

**…**

_“I’m coming with you.”  She sat on the shack’s back porch steps, arms folded petulantly as she gazed at him defiantly. “No, you’re not.” It was 6am. His hands were buried in the crumpled folds of his pockets. He’d forgone his usual hit of caffeine in preference to keeping the shack shrouded in silence. He’d been hoping to slip away before Mabel woke up. Like he’d be that lucky. His twin had been lying, er sitting, in wait; a stuffed backpack nestled beside the sleeping form of Waddles, the now fully grown pig laid across Mabel’s feet._

_“No. You’re not.” He repeated, growing in his resolution. “The forest is dangerous. These creatures are dangerous.” He emphasised, resisting the urge to yawn. He was sleep deprived, irritated and really not ready to start a screaming match right now._

_“And they’re not for you?” Mabel quirked an eyebrow. With a groan he realised his addled mind had just handed her the shovel to dig his grave. “I’m not made of glass, Dipper, and despite what you think, you’re not indestructible. When you go outside,” her voice broke, and he physically felt her pain; the pain he had caused, a wave of nausea twisting in his gut as she fiddled with the ends of her sweater. “I worry.” Her gaze softened, glassing over. “I worry every day that you’re going to come back hurt. Or that you’re not going to come back at all…” her voice descended into a low wail, eyes pinching together as she fought back the tears that were quickly forming around their edges._

_“Fuck,” he swore softly. “Mabel, I’m sorry. I’ve been a shitty brother haven’t I?”_

_“The shittiest, bro-bro.” she shot him a small smile, jabbing him in the ribs before extending her arm towards him. “Mystery Twins?” With a similarly small smile he slipped his hand into hers, pulling her up gently. “Mystery Twins.” It wasn’t a complete end to their separation, but it was a much needed truce, for both of them._

_It was late Summer, but the wooden denizens of the forest were already turning a rather rusty shade of iron. They stood in their ordered rows that blocked the way forward, seeming to stare down at him, branches huffing indignantly in the low breeze that picked at the edges of his cap, some leaves falling early, the green glow of life drained into a sickening ash brown, their spines protesting slightly before giving way underneath his boots with a chorus of violent snaps that echoed in his ears._

_For the first time Dipper felt unwanted by the woods. Like he was trespassing on some hallowed ground that should have remained untouched and undiscovered. The shadows that joined his own seemed to stretch into thin, long tendrils that pulled at his ankles, though he was unsure if they were trying to drag him out of the woods, or if they were trying to pull him deeper into the darkness that was promised behind the boughs penning him in._

_Despite the fact that the sun was steadily rising – or at least it should be; the trees were too thick over his head and any possible signs of the golden orb had been blotted out – Dipper felt himself shivering and forcing his feet to speed up to close the distance between him and Mabel. The feeling of the familiar metal container digging against his hip sent a small wave of reassurance through his mind, but any spark of confidence quickly fizzled out at the sound of a low howl in the distance that pierced the uneasy silence. At least, he hoped it was in the distance._

_“So what are we finding today? Nymphs? Guy nymphs? Really, really hot guy nymphs?” Mabel’s face lit up excitedly as she practically dragged him further underneath the canopy of trees, and he tried to ignore the voice inside his head that was screaming at him to just as forcefully drag her back to the shack. He hid his worry behind the small smile that was now frozen to his lips, hoping Mabel hadn’t noticed. If she had, she remained silent on the subject._

_“Actually,” he flicked through the journal’s pages with one hand, stopping at the correct page before proudly lifting it up on level to her face for her to see. “We’re looking for a flora that only grows in a specific part of Gravity Falls’ forest, according to Ford it’s a key ingredient in the creation of-”_

_“Booooooooring,” Mabel cut him off, but kept smiling, and pulled him further along the way the journal had instructed. Dipper felt himself relax. Despite their differences and fights, he really had missed traditional Mystery Twin adventures. After all, they were just looking for a flower in the safest part of the forest he knew – a fact he had deliberately failed to mention to Mabel. What could possibly go wrong?_

**…**

What could possibly go wrong? Five words that many believe, when uttered causes everything existing in the universe to conspire to answer that question with the worst possible answer. For many, that answer simply consisted of a car crash, or even a surprise calculus test. The answer the universe gave Dipper to those five words that in roughly five minutes he would so regret uttering, was not a car crash or a surprise calculus test.

He ducked to avoid a low tree branch, yanking Mabel’s arm down so that she also avoided the concussion waiting to happen. His foot screamed in agony as he landed on it wrong, bending at an angle that couldn’t possibly be natural. Hopefully it was just sprained. He’d smother it in ice when they got back to the shack. _If you get back to the shack_ , his pessimistic side whispered in his mind.

The forest flashed by him, and normally he’d take a moment to appreciate the sense of freedom the space so often provided him with. Today was not one of those days. He was pretty sure with the speed he and Mabel were going at, they could probably set a world record for the 800m. Or however far they’d run. He’d lost track of the time. His muscles felt like they’d been going for hours, but the logical part of his brain rationalized that it could only have been minutes. Not that he was listening to the logical part of his brain now. Dipper’s thoughts were too busy screaming directions at his limbs which were fumbling to follow them. _Left! Right! Left! Swerve!_   He skidded around a rabbit hole, hoping Mabel was following.

His legs were covered in already-purpling bruises and multiple ribbons were laced across his shins and thighs, whilst a cut across his knee from one of the many earlier falls was slowly but steadily oozing crimson. His breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, each one shredding his lungs as it forced its way out of his burning throat. His hair clung madly to his scalp, bouncing up and down in its newfound freedom – the signature trucker hat was lost somewhere along the trail. His free hand gripped the can of mace, hoping – but highly doubting – that it would be as effective against their pursuers as it was against mermaids.

A quick glance back showed Mabel wasn’t faring any better. Somehow her hairband hadn’t disappeared in the madness, allowing the person behind him to at least still be recognisable as his twin. A multitude of bruises had blossomed across her skin, she was hobbling slightly and her shoulder seemed to hang at an odd angle.

“D-ipp-er,” She wheezed. “M-abel,” He managed to huff back, giving her hand what he hoped was a reassuring gentle squeeze.

She looked like a madwoman; her cheeks were puffed out and red from effort, her eyes were rolling as she desperately sought to see what was following them whilst at the same time know where they were going, her concealer was blotched, her mascara running and her Mabel Assured Guarantee Sparkle lip gloss was more smeared around her mouth than on it. Beneath his hand he could feel her trembling. Whether from fear or pain he couldn’t tell.

That question was immediately answered as her eyes widened in terror. “DIPPER!” She screamed in warning as a shape detached itself from the pursuing shadows and _hurled_ itself into him. His side exploded in pain as the air was literally knocked out of him and he fell to the forest floor, only just managing to catch his hands out in front of him and prevent his head from smashing into a tree stump.

 _Great,_ he thought weakly, _add two broken ribs to the hospital bill._ Mabel was dragged out of his hold by the force and he instinctively pulled away, looking up to lock eyes with a wolf. At least, part of his brain called it a wolf.

Fur, tail, four legs, elongated snout. Wolf. Except for the fact that his assailant was huge. At least triple the size of any natural wolf. It literally towered over him; Dipper was by no means short, but his head came roughly up to the creature’s underbelly.

Its fur was matted and an ocean of inky black that pulsed above rippling muscles that would have even Manly Dan screaming ‘Mommy’.  He recognised its form as one from Ford’s Do Not Under Any Circumstance Approach chapter in journal 5.

**_The deepest part of Gravity Falls’ forest is home to a ruthless pack of wherewolves. Differing from werewolves, these creatures are ironically known for their excellent sense of direction and ability to hunt prey over far distances. Long gone feral, they have lost the ability to transform back and forth, instead stuck between a horrific cross between the two…_ **

The growl it emitted as it lunged for his neck was deep and guttural. His newly freed hand whipped back, forming a sloppy fist before slamming into the wolf’s face. His hand squawked in protest. _Possible broken thumb._

The animal howled in surprise, but apparently left hooks weren’t as effective against wherewolves as silver bullets. It reeled backwards then closed its mouth around his left leg. His vision blurred as spots danced in his peripherals. _12 stitches. At least._ Without a second thought he fumbled with the cap, bringing the bottle up and sprayed the last of its contents directly into the beast’s eye.

It shrieked indignantly, but dropped him, turning tail with a snarl and disappeared back into the pack that wheeled around, but didn’t approach, watching the weapon nervously. Hopefully they didn’t realise the can was newly useless. He almost wished one of them would transform into a topless, overpaid actor. The kind that Mabel would gush over.

Mabel.

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Shit.

She’d gone down with one of the wolves; another stray from the pack. Her body lost somewhere beneath its black shadow. “GET THE FUCK OFF MY SISTER!” he screeched, dropping the empty canister before diving into the mass of fur, claws and teeth. A talon embedded itself into his shoulder, tearing the skin and sinking into the bone. He howled in agony, it felt like he was being physically ripped apart. Which, he supposed, he was.

He rolled to the left and a pair of snarling fangs slammed into the ground where his head had rested only seconds ago, taking out a sizable chunk of earth, a miniature mushroom cloud of dust rising up in the corner of his vision as the flung up chunk disintegrated mid-air, a soft hail of dried dirt and pint-sized pebbles succumbing to the forces of gravity.

He ducked quickly beneath the shape, locking his legs underneath the wolf’s hips, ignoring the searing pain in his ankle and thighs that offered the sweet release from consciousness if he just allowed it to wash over him. _Just give in_ it murmured seductively. _No more pain. No more sadness._

He gritted his teeth and pushed upwards, surprising the thing enough to lift it momentarily. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and he reached out with his right hand, desperately searching for something, anything, that could be used as a weapon. His fingers curled around the smooth surface of a rock.

Instinct kicked in as his legs gave way; he flung his body away before launching himself on top of the wolf that had dropped to the ground, dazed. His legs clung to its flank, desperately trying to anchor himself as it bucked, head curled backwards as it snapped hungrily at his arms, eyes rolling and heated spittle landing in globs on his chest.

He tried to remember what the instructor had muttered, deadpanned, at those pony riding lessons he’d been dragged to by a fourteen-year old Mabel; pushing his heels into the wolf’s sides and forcing his back straighter in order to retain his balance, making a note to thank her for forcing him into them later.

He grabbed a fistful of fur and with one arm raised the rock above his head, slamming it down, again and again, driving it into the wolf’s skull, not stopping until he heard a sickening splintering crack. The body beneath him went limp, and he rolled off the corpse, breathing heavily as he pulled his sister closer. He didn’t need to look at her closely to know she was out cold and in serious need of medical help. _Oh god Mabel, I’m so sorry._ He glanced at the gaping hole in her side, resisting the urge to throw up, pass out or get two for the price of one and do both.

1 down. Only fifteen to go. Dipper Pines was going to die as a chew toy.

He gripped Mabel’s body, determined to protect it from becoming overgrown dog food for as long as he could. The leader of the pack – the wolf he’d maced – shot him a particularly murderous look before bounding forward, maw open to expose two massive fangs that would put even Diego to shame. He waited for the sensation of tearing flesh, hoping that the pain would be over quickly. At least Mabel would be unconscious when it happened.

And then everything went grey.

 

Dipper frowned, his thoughts fuzzy. Surely his brain meant ‘and then everything went black’. But upon looking around again his mind had been correct. His surroundings; the trees, the grass, the monstrously large wolf that had been barrelling towards him but now stood frozen, had indeed been drained of any colour.

 “DID YOU MISS ME PINE TREE? ADMIT IT, YOU MISSED ME!” A nasally tone that he had hoped to avoid hearing in this and his next lifetime, screeched into his ear, as the recognisable annoyance burst into the Mindscape, bricks falling into place like a messed-up game of Tetris as they formed into the stuff his nightmares were made of; an obnoxiously yellow triangle.

“Bill.” He spat the name out, hoping it had come out as hateful as he’d meant it, but had a feeling that it instead only sounded weak and hurt. More a pathetic whimper than an insult. The dream demon was the last thing he wanted to see before he died.  “ME!” The voice shouted joyfully back.

The figure sprouted black arms and legs, a shaded top hat balanced over their top edge as they adjusted the jet black bow tie that hung around their, neck? Did Bill even have a neck?

“Wow,” Bill Cipher whistled. Or whistled as well as an equilateral triangle that had no mouth could whistle. “Someone really did a **NUMBER** on you kid!” Dipper glared at the demon as glowing blue numbers scrawled upwards across his arms, fading out of existence as fast as they had appeared. Somehow he knew the triangle was managing to smirk back. “Why are you here? What do you want Bill?”

“Aw Pine Tree, you wound me! Can’t an old family friend stop by without wanting anything? I’m just here to watch some good old-fashioned mutilation. And maybe lend a hand.” Dipper frowned. “We’re not friends. And since when do you do anything for free?” He regretted the words instantly as Bill’s blindingly yellow flashed crimson. Pissing off the person who could quite easily incinerate you and your possibly dead sister? Nice move, Pines.

Bill’s voice rose in volume and his form doubled in size, annoyance clear, but thankfully Dipper’s hair didn’t suddenly decide it was extremely flammable. “I GIVE LOTS OF FREEBIES. SEE? BADA BING BADA BOOM!” Instantly Dipper felt the pain in his shoulder lessen. “But that,” Bill pointed haphazardly in Mabel’s direction, shrinking back down. “That’s gonna cost you. Someone shoot Shooting Star with a silver bullet! Ooooh, nice sibilance!” He giggled, and Dipper winced as the sound – the only way he could possibly come close to describing it was as psychotic – reverberated in his ears. “But hey, lucky for you I think I know a guy!”

All too vividly Dipper found himself recalling forks sticking out of his flesh and stairs rushing past his face.

“The last deal I made with you ended up with you possessing my body! It took weeks for the bruises to clear up!” He shouted indignantly.

“Okay okay, no sudden stair falls. Sheesh, you’re no fun kid. Though I really do want to help.”

“Help?” Dipper spluttered. “Help from you always has a price. What do you get? The journals? Ford’s work?”

“Simple.” Bill grinned, batting his eyelid at the boy in – was that a wink? For a second he felt hopeful. If Bill didn’t want the journals or Ford’s work, maybe, maybe the price wouldn’t be that bad. And if it saved Mabel…

“YOU.” He smiled at him, beaming as if he’d just been handed a constantly screaming head.

Dipper felt that hope rise and float along. Then sink like the Titanic. He swallowed, shaking off the tidal wave of terror that was threatening to drag him down into its depths.

He almost missed drowning. Almost. He never knew how much he appreciated breathing, but then again, water filling your lungs as you fought to stay conscious whilst you were forcefully held down, vision blurring as you choked, coughing, spluttering, hoping for anything that could relieve the burning pain that was hammering into your skull, all while listening to your heart begin to give out, knowing that this was the end of your existence, made a person appreciate the small things in life. Like breathing. And not being owned by the demon you had somehow managed to make a mortal enemy of.

He wondered briefly what terrible thing he’d done to make the universe hate him so much. He’d drank under-age that one time. But by that logic practically every teenager across the country would have been forced to sell their soul to the devil. Karma could go suck it.

“M-m-me?”

“YOU. HEART, BODY, SOUL. ETERNAL SERVITUDE WITH ME AS YOUR BRILLIANT MASTER, YADA YADA YADA” Bill elaborated, dropping down next to the frozen wherewolf and flicking it with a finger squarely on the snout. Dipper tried to ignore the overly-large amount of pleasure that action gave him.

“But why me?”

“Easy, like I said before kid, I like you. In a world of dumb meatsacks you’re interesting. Raising the dead? Breaking into Glasses’ mind? You got talent.” Bill said talent like he was appraising a slab of meat, trying to decide if he should roast it or just eat it raw. “I could use you on my team, Pine Tree. Plus you have to agree, you got one hell of a Martyr complex. Pissing Sixer off is just the icing on an already delicious cake.”

“So you get me,” Dipper sighed. “What does that even mean?”

“Glad you asked.” The triangle hummed thoughtfully as he floated over, coasting a hand through Dipper’s exposed curls, ignoring the boy’s obvious discomfort, before perching on his shoulder, resting the tip of his top edge against his head, so that Bill’s top hat was now poking into his jaw.

“It means a couple of things. You’d be my man on the outside, my way of communicating with the world. It’ll be a blast. You’d do what I say, when I say. When I say jump, you say, ‘which cliff?’” he giggled at his own joke. Dipper did not return the action. It wouldn’t surprise him if Bill really did order him to jump off a cliff – there were plenty of them around and he’d probably find the resulting injuries hilarious. He ignored the guffaws, deep in thought, trying to find any possible loop holes. He ran through all the options, and prayed to God he’d found them all. Not that God had been listening much lately.

“You won't harm my family? No possessions? No destroying the journals?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, stick thirteen forks in my eye!” Dipper winced as the utensils popped into existence a metre above his head. Bill launched himself off Dipper’s shoulder and back into the air, giving a jaunty bow, before the forks spun, hurtling into Bill’s side like thrown darts, who simply laughed, throwing his arms out wide.

“Pssh, One.” Bill counted on his fingers. “Families are overrated. Two. Why would I want to possess my own slave? And three. Destroying the journals is useless now – brainbox that you are, you’ve practically memorised them!”

Unwillingly, Dipper felt a puff of pride. It was true; he knew most of the pages off by heart, not even Ford could boast that. But Bill was the first to actually acknowledge the achievement. Mabel had just scoffed and called him ‘nerd’ over her shoulder, and Ford’s own ego had meant he’d refused to even entertain the idea that someone could possibly be smarter than him at something.

“So,” he spoke carefully, trying, and probably failing, to hide his desperation. “You’ll save Mabel, and she’ll still be human? No super wolfication?”

Bill snapped his fingers. “It’ll be like none of this ever happened.”

“Except you’ll own my soul.”

“Except I’ll own your soul.” Bill parroted back to him, cackling after his confirmation.

He glanced at the charging wherewolf. And the fourteen others frozen behind it. He ran through all of his sane options. All of them ended in his and probably Mabel’s, horrific, brutal death. There was no way Dipper was getting out of this one.

 

A lump formed in his throat. He thought back to the journal. _Mabel…_

 **_Trust no one_ ** _._

Bill waved his hand in the air impatiently, the cyan flames forming and floating invitingly. Every self-preservation instinct screamed at him to run as far away from those flames as he could.

 **_Do not summon at all costs_ ** _._

Sighing, Dipper ignored those screams which were now deafening in volume and reached forward, grasping Bill’s hand in his own. With a defeated tone he muttered,

“Deal.”

Bill’s eye glinted as they shook, once, twice, thrice. The flames enveloped his arm. But this time he stayed in his own body. _Silver linings_ , he thought sourly.

“Pleasure doing business, Pine Tree.” He thought he heard Bill murmur softly. Or maybe he’d imagined it. Nothing about the dream demon screamed soft.

Pain seared his vision. And then, finally, everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 Chapters in 2 days? MUI has wifi? Her laptop hasn't died yet! It's a miracle!
> 
> Well, I'll see all you lovelies next week with updates, ta taa  
> ~ MUI


	5. Stamps, Snowglobes and Suggested Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper wakes up to a lovely surprise from his amazing master. Sadly, he doesn't see it that way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right all you lovelies, serious talk time: This fic will be getting updated regularly each week on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. So expect a new chapter some time on each of those days. 
> 
> If a chapter isn't up on those days, either I'm dead, my laptop's dead, or my wifi's dead. 
> 
> That being said, thank you all for reading, and I invite you to return to this trip into the darkest, deepest parts of the human mind, which at the moment is still quite sane. But as we all know, Bill isn't the best poster boy for sanity.

Dipper woke up screaming. Screaming was a loose term; he woke up half shrieking his lungs out. His hands had curled into tight, sweaty fists that shook, the covers clenched beneath them, though the material between his fingers felt oddly thicker than it usually did. A quick glance downwards led to the discovery that it was not just one blanket that covered him, but multiple.

His waist was pinned in place by the weight of two duvets, over which a heap of his clothes had been dumped. It was as if some sort of clothing bomb had detonated, with him at the centre of the blast. Bill’s handiwork, no doubt. If anything, at least he wouldn’t be dying of hypothermia anytime soon.

With the amount of heat the covers generated, it took him a moment to realise that beneath them, save for his boxers which were mercifully still sticking to his hips, he was very, very naked. _When had that happened? Oh God, had Bill stripped him?_ He felt a lump form at the back of his throat and swallowed. Somehow, his mouth still felt dry.

He waited for Mabel to come rushing over and force Waddles into his lap or pull him into the type of awkward sibling hug that left you feeling like you’d just been death-gripped by an anaconda, the way she always did after he’d had a nightmare.

But despite the volume of the shriek – he half expected one of his Grunkles to slam the door down, muzzle of a shotgun pointed towards whatever had been the cause – no one flung their arms around him. _Oh right,_ he recalled, _separate rooms._

He struggled to sit upright, panting. He breathed heavily, greedily guzzling air as if it were a discovery he had just stumbled upon for the first time. A steady stream of sweat trickled down his forehead, blurring his eyesight slightly, the darkened rafters above his head swimming in and out of perspective, before finally focusing as he blinked.

His body trembled, torn between whether it wanted to black out again or continue its impression of a nervous rabbit having a heart attack. He withdrew from the army of makeshift blankets he had been cocooned in, swinging his legs round to rest against the back of the bed’s side frame. His knees quivered. _Continuation of a dying bunny it is_ , he guessed.

On the upside, it appeared Bill had made good on his words. Examining his legs, it seemed as if all the previous injuries had never existed. Where sizeable chunks of his shins should have been missing, the skin was instead smooth and unscarred. And his ribs weren’t erupting into excruciating pain at the slightest movement.

At least Grunkle Stan wouldn’t have to foot the bill for a very, very long hospital visit. The journal was still on the floor. So Bill had been telling the truth when he’d mentioned not needing to destroy them. Even his hat was back; dried and perched innocently on the drawer he’d left it on the previous night. Dipper mumbled a grudging thanks to the demon for saving it. He hadn’t been too eager to stumble around the wherewolf-filled forest blindly until he happened upon it.

He quickly pulled on a pair of slacks, hoping, **praying** that Bill wasn’t watching. Not that he believed the triangle understood the meaning of personal privacy. He reached for a shirt.

For selling his soul, Dipper felt pretty darn good. Aside from a slight buzzing in his ears – dull and muffled, the kind you get when you’re on a plane that had just taken off, he felt like he could run a marathon, or wrestle the Multi-bear and actually win.

That train of thought was immediately silenced when he caught his reflection in the mirror. Any feelings of gratitude to the demon swiftly vanished along with it, replaced by an assortment of death threats that ranged from a brief stabbing to an overdrawn disembowelling followed by a botched decapitation. A strangled yelp escaped his throat.

He let out a string of profanities. One unwanted influence from the Stans was that both he and Mabel now knew how to swear like a sailor who’d just had their leg involuntarily amputated. Although he was usually the only one of the two to employ the use of that knowledge, sober.

He was going to kill Bill. He was going to find some old book hidden in Ford’s lab with a banishing spell that they hadn’t tried yet and exorcise the fuck out of the demon. He was going to banish him to some distant, miserable plane of existence from which he could never return. Enslavement deal be damned.

With great restraint he successfully managed to silence the next row of swears that would have made even a drunk Glaswegian blush, instead settling for a long, agonised “Fuuuuuuuck”. He swore he could hear Bill’s laughter echoing in the distance.

The reason for his rage was etched into the skin just below his right shoulder. There, as if it had always been, was a black triangle, wide enough to span from both sides of his arm, with an open eye sitting in its middle, slit pupil seeming to regard him smugly. He felt hatred well up at the sight of the thing.

He’d been branded. Like some fucking livestock. Bill may as well have just scribbled ‘MINE’ across his forehead with a permanent marker.

He poked at it cautiously, unsure of what to expect. He waited for his fingers to catch fire or turn purple. A weak bolt of electricity shot through him at the contact. It wasn’t painful, but it certainly wasn’t pleasant either. The glorified version of an electric shock.

He hastily threw on a shirt with sleeves. Normally he hated wearing sleeved shirts; they left his arms feeling confined, but he hated the thought of the conversation that would follow the discovery of the newest addition to his flesh more.

Not just because he had a tattoo – without permission. Grunkle Stan would have an aneurysm. But because he had a tattoo that could, and undoubtedly would, be linked to Bill. One look at the stamp and Ford would have the memory gun against his skull faster than you could shout “Buy gold!”

If the scalene sadist had been going for subtle reminder he’d missed the mark. Dipper wished he’d just left a post-it-note with an ‘I owe you, 1 soul.’ At least that would have been flammable. And not permanently attached to his own skin. Now he had to come up with some excuse if the mark was ever seen.

“ _Oh hey, Grunkle Stan, what’s this? Oh it’s just proof that I sold my soul to the demon that tried to destroy your mind in order to save Mabel’s life. You know, the one that possessed me when I was 12, scarring me for life, and Grunkle Ford said never to summon at all costs?” Gee,_ he thought sarcastically, _that would go down about as well as a hot air balloon made of lead._

**_Too right it would_ **

He agreed. Or he thought he did. The voice had come out of nowhere. Agreeing with himself. That was weird. Normally one part of him spouted common sense whilst the other part protested and did exactly the opposite of what the first part was instructing; namely running head first into as much danger as possible. Agreeing was, new. He hadn’t realised the buzzing in his ears had intensified until his head was left feeling as if it had been hit by a sledgehammer from behind.

His mind shook at the force that was now pulsing against it, struggling to continue its grasp of reality. It was as if someone who had been holding answers out to towards his direction had suddenly yanked their hand away, leaving him feeling lost and confused. _What had he been thinking about again?_ It took a moment for him to remember. The voice. _Was it even his?_

 ** _Of course I’m yours. I’m you_** _,_ the voice chirped, **_who else would I be, the abominable snowman?_**

His thoughts cleared for a second, before the fog descended again. Denser, this time. His brow furrowed, head fuzzy.

He smiled, of course it was his. Probably some ‘let your conscious be your guide’ bullshit. He was about to reply, but was interrupted by a bellow from Grunkle Stan, the older man’s gravelly voice muffled but still understandable even through the floorboards – a feat that was made much less impressive by the fact that said floorboards were now almost entirely hollow; only last week Dipper’s foot had actually gone through one of them. The money for the repairs had been taken from his already practically non-existent wages.

Even at 84, Stan’s iron fist dictatorship of the Shack continued. The fact that he wasn’t even the proper owner of the shack had somehow become irrelevant.

“Dipper! Get your sleep deprived ass down here! What passes for breakfast is done and the shop opens in twenty minutes!” 

Of course, he’d sold his soul, but still had to man the till in the Mystery Shack’s gift shop. The ringing in his head continued. He probably just needed coffee.

**_Yes! Coffee! Food! We should eat, like a normal person!_ **

His stomach did a happy flip.

He rolled the shirt’s sleeve up to look at the tattoo again, then dropped it back down, giving one last halfhearted death threat to the triangle to the mirror before ducking out the door.

...

The kitchen was every bit as in need of repairs as the rest of the shack. It was a dimly-lit room, the two sources of light being the lamp that hung haphazardly from the ceiling that flickered as it clung to what was left of its life, and a pair of windows that overlooked the backyard and forest.

Its interior was basic, anything of note consisting merely of uneven, cluttered shelves and cupboards that stuck at awkward angles off the wall, a medium sized fridge that for some reason carried a stuffed wolf head hunting trophy on its top surface, and the somewhat sizeable table that his twin was currently face-planting, her body slumped over and eyes half-closed.

A wave of fear washed over him, but it calmed quickly when he realised that all her previous injuries were missing. She looked exactly as she had before they had set off into the forest, if a little ill. Was that a side effect of almost dying and being healed by a demon?

 “Hey Mabes.” All he got in response was a half-raised hand in his direction and a muffled ‘blargh’. “You, er, okay there?”

“Urgh,” she groaned, clutching her stomach. “It feels like I just ate a bazillion bags of Smile Dip. And then ran a mile.”

“So, a normal Friday then?”

“Har har. The caffeine addict is making fun of the sugar addict. Hilarious.” She muttered sarcastically, but grinned.

Dipper's fingers paused on the kettle, before he resumed pouring coffee into his usual mug, trying to ignore the fact that this was only proving Mabel's point. His mouth felt as dry as the Sahara. He needed this.

Stan came up from behind Dipper, slamming two plates down onto the table. Mabel let out a whoop, any illness quickly forgotten as she rammed handfuls of pancake into her mouth. His Grunkle pulled up a battered chair beside her. There was no sign of Ford. The man was probably down in his laboratory.  

“So some of the stuff in the Shack is getting old. We need something new, something to wow these suckers” Stan announced, continuing quickly, before Dipper could volunteer to find a new exhibit. Which was probably a wise choice; the last time Dipper had provided the shack with a new attraction hadn’t exactly gone well. Maybe showing a monster with the power to show someone their worst fears to the point of insanity, to tourists had been a bad idea.

"I’m thinking pre-adult wolfman” Stan grinned. “Even had a new costume made.” Dipper inwardly groaned.

He was sure he’d seen the last of the hated fur pants and ears when he’d accidentally tripped and dropped it into the actually bottomless pit he and Mabel had discovered their second year back.

Which had been a metre away from where he’d fallen, and surrounded by layers of tape that had been extremely difficult to crawl under. Oops. Well, accidents happen, and all that.

Sensing his nephew’s reluctance, Stan ran a hand across his stubble, “You can even er, keep half the tips,” He managed to wheeze out with difficulty.

“Wow. Thanks.” Despite the tone, Dipper was genuinely grateful. He knew how hard it was for Stan to part with cash. His Grunkle often reminded him of a dragon hoarding its gold. The man rarely parted with over ten dollars if it wasn't for his own benefit.

“So Paz invited me to the mall and I was thinking of going with Candy and Grenda…”

He found his concentration slipping as Mabel began to chatter on about her plans for the week. It had never interested him and most times he’d just nodded mutely whenever she’d begun to ramble on about whatever social event it was that time.   

**_Pre-adult wolfman? That’s adorable_ **

_No it’s not. It’s degrading. I have to dance in front of people. Shirtless._

**_I repeat, adorable._ **

_And the last costume gave us that suspicious lump that didn’t go down for a month. Mabel even named it Lumpy and drew a smiley face on it with her glitter pens. Ford was convinced it was some sort of alien parasite that was going to eat my brain._

**_Cute._** The voice paused. **_Hey, shouldn’t we be talking?_**

“ **Dipper.** ”

Dipper blinked; his conscious was right. Mabel was eyeing him suspiciously, a pancake hanging mid-way to her mouth, forgotten in her now frozen hand and he realised she’d been repeating his name for the last minute. Stan was silent, but his arms were folded and his eyes were narrowed slightly. He could tell that the man was as worried as Mabel. They both watched him, waiting for an explanation.

“I uh, I.” He stuttered, trying to think of a way out of the situation. “Just tired.” He mumbled, grabbing his coffee mug and leaving the kitchen, resisting the urge to run. He could feel Mabel’s eyes drilling into the back of his head as he left. His free hand pulled at his eyelids. He was already exhausted and the shop opened in five minutes. He downed the mug's contents. It was going to be a long day.

**...**

All his life, Dipper had remained socially awkward and clumsy. Two qualities that were not best suited for the job he was currently forced into. His mind wandered easily and often minutes would pass before he caught himself and returned, albeit reluctantly, to the reality that faced him. A state he had been slipping into more and more recently.

He had also been held accountable for near half of all breakages in the shop over the past year. These all pointed to only one possible conclusion – he was not meant to be a salesman.

Dipper was many things; an avid reader and writer, a curiosity-driven explorer, an experienced(ish) monster hunter. To say that he was a salesman would have been wrong. It would have been a lie, because Dipper Pines was not describable, in any possible way, shape or form, as a salesman.

He possessed neither Mabel’s ability to turn any stranger into an immediate best friend, and as a result extort concernedly large amounts from their wallet, nor his Great Uncle Stan’s worrying obsession with money.

Similarly, he also lacked the man’s fashion sense, though Dipper saw this as a positive; other than the greasy white vest that was now decidedly less white and more an increasingly yellowing sort of brown, and a pair of shorts that were so short they could have easily have been mistaken for his boxers – an eye-burningly horrific image that once seen, could not be cured, no matter the amount of bleach used; Stan’s wardrobe consisted of a crinkled, coal-black suit that at some point in its life had probably been an old rented wedding tux before the man had refused to return it, with an even crinklier shirt peeking out from beneath a slip of ribbon that may have once been a bow tie.

Dipper loathed suits, much preferring the freedom of any basic, low-neck T-shirt to any silken cage that seemed to require the sudden and unplanned deaths of at least 3 objects in the near vicinity before it would allow itself to be properly donned.

When pushing his limbs through suit leg holes, Dipper had all the grace of an elephant trying to balance on a tricycle on 1 foot. Suits were for funerals or weddings, neither of which he would be particularly enthused to attend.

Dipper was not a salesman. No, he was instead, a man, who had been forced to sell merchandise to the sucke-, valued customers of the Mystery Shack, the tourist trap they called home. Why the Mystery Shack was as successful as it was, was a bigger mystery than any of its exhibits.

When they had first arrived at the Shack, 12 years old and fresh off an uncomfortable bus ride from Piedmont which had mostly been spent attempting to convince Mabel everything would be great, it had been far from perfect. In fact, upon sight of the place, Dipper had felt all his unvoiced reservations bubble to the surface of his mind, and knew that all the time spent convincing Mabel had been wasted.

But now? Saying the shack was ramshackle would have been the understatement of the century. And the frequency of Ford-caused fires and explosions certainly didn’t help towards the place’s ability to pass health and safety.

But despite its questionable level of habitation, the Shack was home. More of a home than Piedmont had ever been.

He was ripped out of his thoughts by the sound of someone slamming a snowglobe down onto the desk beside the till. The snowglobes Stan had produced from one of the many cardboard boxes the man seemed to materialise from thin air were badly made and extremely tacky. They reminded him of those objects you could find in any souvenir shop abroad, the kind that cost less than a dollar to make but were sold for at least five times that amount.

“Dipper huh? Weird name.” She must have seen the jolt of confusion that had flashed through his eyes, as she gestured with a well-manicured hand at his chest. “Your name tag.”

He followed the direction of her hand down, to where a sticker had been slapped onto his shirt, reading ‘Hi, my name is Dipper’ in sloping writing. One of Mabel’s additions to the shack’s running, to try and make the staff seem friendlier and more approachable.

“Oh, right.” He swallowed. “It’s a nickname.”

The girl couldn’t have been any older than he was. She was cute, he guessed. At least, from the brief snatches of conversations he’d overheard over the years spent at high school he guessed she was. Free-falling platinum blonde hair – too bright to be natural – framed a tanned face. The space above her eyes was stained a dark blue, whilst her lips were pulled into a constant pout. Her top was scandalously low and he blushed, unsure of where to look.

He bagged and tagged the snowglobe, handing it to her, his eyes trying to avoid wandering anywhere below her neckline. He passed her the receipt and she took it but stayed by the desk, grabbing a pen that had been sitting on the wooden surface. “It’s weird.” She repeated, scribbling something down on the bottom half of the receipt. She handed him the pen and the paper back when she’d finished. “I like weird.” She winked, grabbed her purchase and sashayed away, hips swaying a little too far to the side to not be deliberate.

He looked down at the paper in his hand. It now had a number neatly written below a signed name of Sam. He glanced around, hoping Mabel hadn’t noticed. The last thing he wanted was his sister playing matchmaker to him with customers. Again. He looked at the number again, grimacing, before shoving it deep into his pocket. He’d get rid of it later.

**_Oooh, I bet that snow globe would break really easy. She might even suit its shards sticking out of her scalp. I mean, her corpse would._ **

He gave an unmanly scream at the suddenness of the voice’s return, almost falling off the stool he’d been perched on, and a couple of customers shot him strange looks, clearly worried for his sanity. One mumbled something to their companion that sounded close to the lines of, “Staff are weirder than the exhibits.”

His fingers clenched around the ledge of the desk in order to prevent himself from crumpling to the floor.  His legs felt as unsteady as a new-born fawn’s.

There was no way his conscious would have suggested murder. He was sane and level-headed and definitely not some psychopathic, snow globe-smashing killer.  There was only one person he knew who would come to that conclusion. If they could even be called a person.

Suddenly he hoped he was just losing his sanity. Or that Jiminy Cricket had just developed a really sick, sadistic side since filming for Pinocchio had wrapped.

“B-Bill?” he hissed, under his breath, knowing the answer even before the question forced itself out of his mouth. He felt his stomach lurch as his breakfast threatened to make a surprise comeback.

 ** _Well duh_** the demon in his head drawled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter, I know. I apologise for any awkwardness during the kitchen scene. Writing happy fun family times? Not my strong suit.
> 
> I should add that in this, all episodes up to Roadside Attraction have occurred, after which Dipper and Mabel returned to Piedmont without Bill's interference.
> 
> Once again, thank you for all your support, really makes my day. I'll see you all again on Tuesday. Ta taaaa  
> ~ MUI


	6. Being Nice Means Animal Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight gore warning towards the end of this chapter, but hey, looking at the title, you probably knew that. Nothing too graphic, I'd say it's a level 3 on the scale of 1-10.
> 
> We now begin on Dipper's long and unfortunate road to Hell, oh my poor boy, what have I done to you...

Dipper paced furiously across his room, clenching then unclenching his fists as he fought the urge to slam them hard into the nearest wall. He’d been fighting that urge for the last five minutes. Ever since his shift had ended and he’d bolted past a grinning Mabel up to his room. His, previously private, room. “So, you’re in my head.” He eventually managed to grind out without destroying the closest object in the vicinity. Barely. Though the sharpness of the clenches had left the crescent shapes of his nails clearly indented against his palms.

**_Oooh, have we finally finished throwing a hissy fit? Yes, I’m in your head, genius_ **

“But I thought we Bill-proofed the shack.”

**_You did. Rather annoying too. Unicorn hair, ugh. A primitive method, but effective. There’s a reason you made it to this age. How’d you even manage to get that? Dress up in a ball gown and play princess as some pure hearted sweet maiden?_ **

Dipper raked his shaking hands through his hair, trying to ignore the mocking tone. His annoyance was quickly mounting and though he refused to give Bill any more entertainment value from his reactions, the Dorito was making it increasingly difficult for him not to smash the mirror he was currently stalking past. He figured seven years of bad luck wouldn't make much of a difference to the predicament he had somehow managed to get himself into. Another famous Dipper Pines screw-up. Only this time he'd sold his soul to a demon. It was his biggest fuck up in his history of fuck ups.

“I’m going to ignore the fact that you just hinted at my possible murder, and no,” he replied coolly. “It was Mabel.”

 ** _Nice_** Bill chuckled, **_destroying a twelve year old’s dreams. Didn’t think you had it in you Pine Tree_**

“So, if the hair works, how are you here then?”

 ** _Simple._** How a voice in his head could sound smug, Dipper didn’t know. But somehow Bill managed to. **_I own you, we are bonded. Which means my soul is now attached to yours. And so all your barrier registers is 100% dumb meatsack and 0% of your all-powerful demon overlord. Brilliant, I know._** He paused, waiting almost expectantly. **_This is the part where you applaud._**

“Yeah, because I will totally applaud the literal demon on his ability to enter my home and torment me.” Dipper intoned sarcastically. “Not. Happening.” He hissed. His mind was working away furiously. He knew he’d given himself to Bill, but being bonded? _What did that even mean?_

**_You forget your place_ **

Bill growled and Dipper yelped as large, inky black tendrils appeared at his wrists, roughly forcing his hands together in a quick succession of loud, hollow, slapping sounds. When Bill was satisfied with the round of ‘applause’ the tendrils vanished, returning Dipper’s control over his limbs.

“So if you can get through the barrier, why aren’t you here, you know, destroying everything? I mean, not that I want you to,” Dipper tacked on quickly.

**_Why would I do that? I already have what I want. And besides, I can’t leave the Mindscape unless I’m summoned kid. Not yet, at least_ **

“I didn’t summon you.” He pointed out, rubbing his reddened wrists angrily.

**_Well isn’t someone a special little snowflake? And before you go off feeling all self-important, I only saved you because only I get to be the one to decide when you die. Because I’ll be the one to kill you. Not some dumb dog. So until then you better stay alive._ **

“Wow, Bill." He spat the name, bitterly. "That was almost caring.”

**_I look after my toys. Mostly. You’d be less fun to me with a snapped neck._ **

He shivered. Bill’s promise to ‘look after him’ was somehow scarier than his previous promises to kill him.

“So the voice right now is-“

 ** _A projection of my thoughts into your mind_** Bill finished. **_Though don’t get any un-smart ideas kid, just because I’m not here physically. I still own you, and if it takes a little arson to get that into your dumb fleshy head I will gladly put up with a day of healing in order to pay your lovely home a visit_**

“You promised you wouldn’t harm my family!” Dipper shouted, his head jerking up. His balled fists slamming into his sides, any desire to stay calm forgotten. “That was the deal!”

 ** _Yes, I promised_** _I_ **_wouldn’t harm your family. You’d be surprised how many meatsacks die to smoke inhalation. You’re all so stupidly fragile like that.  Fires are so common. And if a door just so happened to be locked, well. Lively little Mabel Pines might not be so lively anymore._**

All of a sudden, Dipper realised exactly how open ended their deal really was. Other than giving his soul away, he still had no idea exactly what being owned by the demon meant. And Bill couldn’t personally harm his family. But that didn’t mean he couldn't mess with other elements to end with them hurt. He hadn’t promised not to lock a door so they ended up hurt. As long as it was indirect, Bill could still hurt any of them at any time.

He thought he'd been smart. _You won't harm my family?_ He thought he'd found all the possible tricks Bill could have used to twist his words because he hadn't let the demon give the conditions, only agree to them. And he'd missed the biggest possible twist of them all. 

_You won't harm...You..._

Dipper knew exactly what he'd meant by 'you'. He meant no messing with his family. End of. Yet Bill could interpret it in any way. In the way that 'you' meant 'I'.  _I promise I won't harm your family._ But others could. Two loopholes. Dipper you idiot.

He’d saved Mabel from wolves only to offer her to the devil.

“I’ll do whatever you say, just,” his voice broke, “Just leave them out of this. Please.” He hated begging. He hated how desperately he was pleading to Bill. But what was the alternative? Refuse and watch as one by one Bill killed his friends, his family? Wendy, Ford, Stan, Mabel. They’d all die, and it would be his fault.

 ** _Good Pine Tree_** Bill purred. **_I’ll let them live out their pathetic depressing lifespans. As long as you co-operate. Or you can struggle. I don’t care. Either way, you’re going to come along; it’s up to you whether that’s willingly, or being dragged screaming and fresh from a funeral._**

“So, what do you want me to do?”

Would he be able to hurt someone? Murder someone? He already knew the answer to that. He would do whatever it took to keep his family safe. Mabel would live, free and happy. She would go to university, graduate, knowing her boy craziness probably fall for some hot guy and marry them. He would make sure of that. She would stay in Heaven, even if it meant him falling into Hell.

**_That martyr complex is adorable._ **

Dipper gritted his teeth. “You may be in my head, but stay the fuck out of my thoughts Bill.”

**_Ouch, touch-eee. Hey, quick question. How good is your biology?_ **

**…**

He had been expecting to be dragged into town to find a suitable murder victim. What he hadn’t been expecting was a midnight walk through the forest. Bill had never struck him as a nature lover. And yet here he was, staggering through the mass of trees in the middle of the night with a demon whistling what sounded like _I Can't Decide_ in his head.

This time it wasn't that the forest didn't want him there.  _He_ didn't want to be there. He wanted to be anywhere but there. Hell, he'd even sit through a seven hour performance at the Tent of Telepathy if it meant not being where he currently was. Not that he knew that. He'd lost track of any sense of direction after the eleventh left turn. 

“Where are we even going?” he hissed, praying that he wasn’t being led to surprise some poor, unsuspecting camper. Then again, killing a stranger would be easier than killing someone he'd known, who he'd talked to, who had family. Oh god was he comparing people with killing them in mind? What was he thinking?

**_You’ll know when we get there_ **

“Well isn’t that just positively illuminating.” Dipper snarked, swearing furiously as he stumbled over yet another tree root. The demon cackled in response, clearly enjoying his suffering then resumed his whistling. 

Part of him wished that the journey would last forever, that way he could keep on pretending that he was just out for a perfectly ordinary stroll. Another part just wanted it to end so that he could at least know what Bill was going to make him do. He highly doubted it was picking flowers. He tried to ignore that part.

Five more minutes of stumbling and tripping over roots later, the instructions in his mind – it was hard to describe, he guessed it was like some kind of inner satnav that was telling him where to go; _turn left, turn right, trip over that root and fall flat on your face_  – faded out. They had reached their destination. Wherever that was.

Even in the nearly pitch-black darkness, Dipper could tell Bill had brought him to a clearing. The lines of trees that had penned him in lessening slightly as they curved away, forming a menacing ring. An unmoving shape stood in the middle of the space, body only slightly outlined against the shrubbery at its back.

He could barely make out the curve of a spine, a slightly outreached neck and a rounded skull, atop of which sprouted a pair of enormous spikes, more a menacing accumulation of barbs than antlers. The creature moved its head. Where insect-black pupils should be were instead unblinking yellow slit eyes. The exact same ones he'd had when Bill stole his body.

 “Oh fuck.” Dipper felt a pit settle in his stomach as he realised exactly what the demon wanted him to do. “Bill, I can’t.” This was different to the wolf – that had been trying to kill him. He’d had to. It had either been that, or bye bye Dipper, and soon after Mabel, Pines. This, this was an animal that posed no threat and was completely innocent. For God’s sake, he had even petted one when he was younger.

 ** _Gee Pine Tree, that’s such a shame_** Bill murmured, his tone telling that it was anything but. **_I’m sure Shooting Star would be all too happy to know you wouldn’t kill some dumb animal to save your own sister. In fact, I may just go tell her now; I bet she’s just dying to know_**

Dipper stiffened, his eyes widening. Images of what Bill would do flashing through his mind. He wasn’t sure if they were his imagination or Bill’s. 

_Bill holding Mabel, his black arms wrapped around her neck. Mabel, running into the forest to search for him, as Bill watched, guiding her closer towards a darkened shadow that lay in wait. Mabel’s body collapsed across her bed, gashes across her sides and an ‘oh’ frozen on her lips._

“You wouldn’t.” He whispered, but Bill didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. Both of them knew that he would. To Dipper, Mabel was everything. To Bill, she was collateral. He wouldn't hesitate to break her. In fact, he'd probably be more than happy to. Especially now that he could enter the Shack. _For Mabel._ His mind whispered. He would do anything, become anything, if it meant keeping his sister safe.

“O-kay" His voice shook. "Okay. I, I'll do it.”

His body felt numb all over. He knew exactly what he was agreeing to, what he was going to have to do, most likely over and over. Tonight, Dipper became a killer.

He tried to convince himself that it wouldn't be that bad. He'd eaten venison before, so killing a deer shouldn't make him feel that guilty. But he was still taking a life. He knew this was wrong. At least it wasn’t a person.

**_Oh we’ll get to those. But tonight I thought I would be nice. Start you off slow. Wouldn’t want you losing your  pretty little mind after killing one measly meatbag. What do you say when someone is being nice to you, Pine Tree?_ **

“Thank you.” He whispered brokenly.

As if reacting to the words, for one glorious second the mess in his head faded away, and he almost screamed with the relief. His thoughts were finally _his_ again. The intruder that had forced itself into his brain was gone.

And then it returned, as dense as it had now become. He fought the urge to collapse onto the grass and cover his ears. _For Mabel._ The thought cut through the fog, and he held onto it like a sinking man held onto the nearest plank of driftwood. That thought was undeniably his. Not Bill’s. Dipper Pines still existed. And fuck, was he going to fight for that existence.

“Can I… Can I at least get something to, y’know,” his voice cracked. “Kill it with?”

Bill grunted, almost in approval. Dipper just had to keep that approval and keep the demon away from his family. Easy, right? The snap of fingers reverberated in his ears, and a small blade – a basic hunting knife – shimmered into existence on the ground a metre away from his boots.

He exhaled sharply and reached for the knife; flinching slightly as the coolness of the blade’s handle bit into his fingers. He took a shaky step forward, eyes fixed on the deer, which in turn gazed back, sinking to its knees and laying itself flat against the grass, belly exposed, as he approached.

He knelt beside it, taking care to keep his arm clear of the imposing prongs. He did not like to imagine how it would feel if those ever came into forceful contact with his flesh. He ran a hand down its back – a sick imitation of the same action he had completed years back at Piedmont’s Petting Zoo. For something that appeared so glossy, the stag’s coat was surprisingly coarse against his skin. 

He felt the hint of a heartbeat beneath his hand, and swallowed, raising the knife over the space.

Any influence Bill had over the animal disappeared the moment the blade sank into the beast’s flank.

Blank amber eyes slid away, replaced with intelligent black orbs that spun in their sockets at the first sensations of pain.

The stag bellowed in rage, bucking beneath his hand that was now the only obstacle between it standing and those very real, very dangerous, prongs goring him. Dipper clenched his teeth and desperately pushed the knife in deeper; whimpering as the body below him writhed, urgently trying to free itself from this stranger, its every instinct screaming danger.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Fuck. I’m so sorry.” He rasped. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I’m so sorry…” he continued to moan as the gash widened, the animal’s beautiful russet coat staining an ugly red.

The ease in which the knife buried itself into the deer’s flesh was terrifying. The blade had almost completely disappeared from sight now; the metal sunk deeply into the stag’s side. His stomach lurched as the body heaved, its mouth stuttering open as blood steadily oozed out from the corners. Its chest heaved in loud, broken gasps as it fought to continue ingesting oxygen.

He felt something in the deer’s insides protest at the knife’s intrusion, but the blade seemed to slip through whatever it was at the application of a slight additional pressure.

The mess in front of him emitted a sickening squelch and Dipper shuddered; realising he’d cut too low. He’d just popped open one of its lungs. “Fuck.” He whimpered.

“Fuck!” He repeated, voice rising to a panicked shrill screech as the deer’s neck constricted, its brain forcing it to gasp for air even as it drowned in its own blood.

It gave one last spasm, before its head finally flopped back against the now soaked grass, all signs of life draining from its eyes that rolled back one last time, seeming to glare accusingly towards him, before glassing over.

He felt his hands plunge into the animal’s open chest, felt his fingers go slick as they touched the stag’s insides. It was as if his body knew exactly what to do and his mind just replied with ‘fuck it’ and followed. 

Bill remained silent, and he thanked the demon for that one small mercy. He couldn’t deal with his constant commentary and quips at the moment. Pulling his now dripping hand out, he let it skim over the ground in a straight line. He raised his hand, briefly examining the trail of crimson it had left in its wake.

Another handful of insides. Another line around the animal. He repeated the action twice, finishing drawing the triangle around the carcass.

“ **Ego hanc tibi domino meo et dominus prandium** ” The words that he somehow knew spewed out of his mouth, and he held back a screech as the mark on his shoulder flared up, searing through him as if it were literally in flames, before receding. The lines of the triangle burned azure, and then it was like the stag – or what was left of it – was torn apart by some unseen force.

The result looked like the animal had been tossed into a blender.

Its blood and insides ran to the edges of the triangle, leeching into the blazing lines, which seemed to pulse, as if they were alive, before the messy pulp evaporated with a low hiss.

“You did good, kid.”

Dipper nodded, mutely. Too exhausted to care that the voice had not come from his head. The fuzz in his head had increased and he felt like he’d just taken a knockout-blow straight to the face. _Had the world always been this blurry?_

He collapsed forward, exhausted, and felt strong hands grip his waist, their owner hot against his shivering skin. He pressed his body closer to the source of the warmth, barely able to keep his eyes open. He didn’t care that the one touching him was the same one who’d just turned him into a killer. He just needed to be held. He relaxed into the touch, slightly taken aback at how nice Bill’s body felt. He had been expecting the texture of cold brick, but instead found himself nuzzling into warm flesh.

“Don’t worry, I’ll clean up. You rest.”

He hadn’t even realised he’d been waiting for the command, but only when it was given did he finally allow his body to fall into the darkened void that had been waiting impatiently to catch him in its arms.

**…**

_Dipper panted as he ran, hurtling past darkened shapes of trees that so far he had been lucky enough to avoid. He slammed into something solid, blinking as his mind was thrown into a muddle of confusion at the impact. That luck had apparently just run out._

_The stag bellowed as it caught up. One hoof angrily pounded the ground. It threw its head downwards and charged._

_Dipper screamed as he was impaled, the antlers tearing open his stomach, ripping out of his flesh on the other side. His breath hitched as his face, contorting in pain, turned to meet yellow unblinking eyes. Its mouth opened and blood trickled out from it, as Bill’s disjointed voice echoed around the clearing. “ **ἔḠΘ ΉἏἧḈ ŦỉḃḮ ḎṎṃḮṈṎ ṂḜṎ ḜŦ ḎṎṃḮṈŰṨ ṖṜẨṈḎḮŰṂ.”**_

**_I offer this meal to my lord and master._ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was uh, nice. Damn, Dipper murdered Bambi. And then used its guts to feed a demon. Heh. 
> 
> Also, 600+ hits? Holy sparkles that's a lot. Next chapter we'll be checking in with a certain triangle. I have to admit, I enjoy writing Bill POVs far too much to possibly be good. Oh well. I'll see all you delicious meatsacks on Thursday.  
> ~ MUI


	7. Pruning Your Pine Tree, Steps 1 to 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ὥ€ḸḸ
> 
>  
> 
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> 
>  
> 
> ὥ€ḸḸ
> 
>  
> 
> ὥ€ḸḸ
> 
>  
> 
> ὥ€ḸḸ

_“Deal.” Dipper muttered, his hand reaching out to join Bill’s. Flames engulfed their limbs; not moving above Bill’s wrist, but they snaked up Dipper’s arm, an action which caused him to emit a surprised howl. He instantly ripped his hand away; screeching as the fires glowed brighter, lingering on his shoulder momentarily, before vanishing._

_“Pleasure doing business, Pine Tree.” Bill murmured softly._

_He smirked as the boy’s pupils flashed gold, though disappointingly only for a second. All too soon, the swirling amber drained away, familiar mocha returning. Pine Tree’s body shuddered as if hit by lightning – Bill really had to try doing that someday – then his form toppled forward._

_Bill caught him easily, scooping him up before his head could touch the ground. Wouldn’t want his new slave to wake up with a concussion. His slave. He liked the sound of that. Because Pine Tree was his. Had always been his. He just hadn’t known it himself. And now, here he was, bruised, bloody and wrapped up like some present for that dumb meatbag celebration. **His**._

_He held the boy closer, resting the back of the lulling head against his chest and splayed him in a curling L-shape across his legs, levitating both of their selves slightly above the ground. Bill’s fingers ran over Pine Tree’s body, and he hummed in approval upon the discovery of each newly inflicted injury. From the series of gashes and gaps that beautifully adorned him, it was a wonder he had still been able to stand. If it weren’t for the gracious help of his best and only friend, good old Bill Cipher, the poor boy probably would have died._

_It had been so long since he had touched the boy, who was, he supposed, a man now. His hands felt the hints of tight muscles beneath the torn clothes. Definitely a man._

_“Oh Pine Tree,” he cooed, “You’ve made me the happiest demon ever.”  Pine Tree gave no response. But he guessed he could forgive him his lack of manners, this one time. After all, the boy was slightly preoccupied, being unconscious and all._

_“Heh,” he continued to speak to the boy softly, “So we **can** have a conversation without you threatening to banish me off to some distant, miserable plane of existence.”  He thought briefly for a moment, before correcting himself. “Well, off to some distant, miserable plane of existence that I don’t hold total dominion over.” _

_Bill chuckled, darkly. Pine Tree was so smart, but he could be so unbelievably clueless sometimes. He hadn’t even questioned why some of the most dangerous, nocturnal inhabitants of Gravity Falls’ forests were roaming around a flower-picking spot._

_The wherewolves had been easy to convince; just a hint at fresh meat and they were already charging straight towards the oblivious humans. It had been painful, true, to separate forcefully from the void once more, and it had been absolutely excruciating to pull Pine Tree into his own Mindscape, but it had been worth it._

_Shooting Star performed her part of the damsel in distress perfectly. He couldn’t have done a better job himself. Well, he could have. But Bill supposed Pine Tree wouldn’t have been as sold on the idea to sell his soul to save Bill Cipher from an event caused by Bill Cipher. At least, not yet. That would soon change._

_He was so desperate to save his sister, so willing to sacrifice himself in the hopes of her happiness. He had been oozing desperation. Sure, he’d promised not to harm the family. Pine Tree wasn’t so dumb as to make a deal without first giving the basic conditions that any idiot who summoned a demon should really make sure to specify. Not that many of them did. What part of ‘demon’ or ‘extremely dangerous, treat with caution’ did the dumb meatsacks never seem to understand?_

_But there were ways round that, and Dipper had been too busy falling over himself in his eagerness to help Star to see that._

_Of course, the boy had had his reservations. They didn’t exactly have the best past together after all. Bill’s grip tightened and he growled petulantly._

_How was he supposed to know flesh suits were supposed to **walk** down stairs? _

_In his opinion – which was the only one that mattered – walking was so slow and time consuming. For a race so obsessed with time, meatbags sure wasted a whole chunk of it on pathetically insignificant actions. If anything, he hadn’t created a problem, he had solved one. But of course, did they thank him? No. They complained._

_Yes, the boy had indeed been reluctant. Defiant even. He admired that. It was not often that anyone dared to voluntarily provoke him._

_But he had soon come round. Dipper Pines really did have an impressive martyr complex. And an uncanny ability to place himself into the most dangerous situations as possible. Bill snickered. Or an uncanny ability to attract those who placed him into the most dangerous situations as possible._

_But even without his interference, the boy could easily double for a danger magnet. There was something about him that was just so deliciously tempting, to fleshies and supernatural alike._

_There would have been other times. Times which he didn’t even have to push and nudge to set up. Dipper would have always ended up in this position. Here, in Bill’s arms. Where he belonged. He had merely sped up a situation which would have happened eventually anyway._

_But Bill wasn’t exactly renowned for his patience. That was one virtue he did not possess, nor saw any need to have. Why wait to open a gift when you can steal it from the one giving it to you and rip it apart on the spot?_

_With a flick of the wrist a familiar blue and white cap materialised in his hands, and he gently pushed it over its owner’s cocoa curls, brushing away strands so that the constellation that blazed across their forehead became visible. He never had understood why it was the recipient of so much hatred. He silently thanked those who had laughed at it; another easy way to manipulate his Pine Tree._

_And there were so many ways. Like so many of the so-called ‘special’ bags of bones, Pine Tree had never interacted especially well with the rest of his pathetic species. The poor boy barely had anyone other than his sister. And even that relationship was already fracturing, even without his helping nudges. Soon, the kid would see he only needed one. And they sure weren’t any of supposed loving family._

_It didn't take an omniscient demon to see Pine Tree was starved of attention from those he so desperately wanted to please. It was sad, almost tragic. And extremely useful. Show a little affection; give the boy someone to trust, to call a friend. He’d be a happy little psychopath before he even knew it._

_He should probably go save Shooting Star. She might even be dead._

_Huffing, he floated the two of them down, slipped out from beneath Dipper and glared at the broken body that was still lying bleeding out slowly on the floor. Though it was weak, he could still see a faint glimmer of her soul. So she hadn’t kicked the bucket just yet. Sure was irritatingly close to it though. The wherewolves really hadn’t held back._

_Her stomach had been slashed open, its contents partly joining the river of blood that had pooled around her and dip-dyed her hair a dirty faded rust shade. Bruises similar to Dipper's littered her skin, the evilest of which appeared to be a rather nasty purple bump that had already swollen to the size of a tennis ball on her left knee. Her shoulder was missing chunks of skin and rested, splayed awkwardly at an angle. Broken._

_He stalked over to the practically-a-corpse, leaned down and pressed himself against the side of her skull. “Your brother’s mine now,” he hissed, though she remained silent._ Rude. _Just lay there, inconveniently, dying. Someone really should teach her some manners._

_With a malicious grin he kicked her in the stomach. Hard._

_“MI~NE MI~NE MI~NE” he sang jubilantly, savouring the word. He kicked her on each syllable, a little harder every time. He adjusted his bow tie briefly with one hand. It was like kicking a puppy. A bloody, helpless, puppy._

_He stepped on her fingers, feeling the bones give way with a satisfying crunch. “Whoopsies! Clumsy old me.” He cackled._

_She wouldn’t even remember anything come morning. It was like a free piñata, only instead of candy he got to further mutilate her past recognition._

_But where was the fun if the victim was silent and unaware of their newly acquired deformities?_

_He grunted, irritated at the realisation that there was none, and teleported her back to the shack, healing her injuries – even the beautiful ones he’d just created._

_If the mortal couldn’t handle inter-dimensional travel and woke up feeling like her insides were outsides, so what? Not his problem. Besides, he’d just performed a fucking miracle, and she hadn’t even thanked him. Ungrateful bitch._

_He returned to Pine Tree’s side, lifting the figure gently into a bridal-style grip before allowing both of them to slip out of the boy’s Mindscape. Normally this would have caused Bill extreme agony, but he was in the middle of a deal right now. And deals gave him power._

_Colour bled back into their surroundings as if some painter had remembered the world wasn’t supposed to be a barren grey scale, and realising their mistake had hurriedly applied splashes of colour to each and every little detail they could find._

_Movement dripped back into the  area, each shape unfreezing as it finally recalled it had a living, beating pulse,_ _though Pine Tree remained still and pale, his breath fluttering weakly._

_The charging wherewolf stumbled as it fell forward, head whipping round in confusion, unsure exactly where the tasty snack that had just been standing in front of it had gone. Confusion quickly turned to terror when it noticed that the same snack was now in Bill’s grip. It yelped, screeching as it and the rest of the mangy pups decided upon a hasty tactical run in the opposite direction._

_Not that retreating would save them. **Like none of this ever happened.** Those who had attacked Pine Tree had to cease to exist._

_Bill turned away slowly, ignoring the deliciously agonising screeches of sheer pain that echoed behind him as he moved slowly through the decaying woods, marvelling at the bloodstained milky skin of his silent companion, the contrast between the two colours so breathtakingly beautiful in the morning light that broke through the canopies above in triangular shapes._

_The golden rays fanned the boy’s face, emphasising his porcelain skin’s paleness. Gold was a good look on the kid._

_He felt the slightest hint of something that couldn’t possibly have been apprehension flash momentarily in his mind as he neared the outline of the Mystery Shack. He didn’t get scared of things. Other things got scared of him._

_As he moved closer to it, he waited for his skin to blister, boil, then finally, disintegrate. Or for his body to be slammed back into the nearest tree trunk. Nothing happened. He grinned, and floated towards the door._

_“I’M BACK BABY!” He screeched, mentally throwing the door off its hinges and bounding inside. “Gee, this place is a dump.” Bill chirruped happily, running one finger down a wall and examining it, as if checking for dust._

_A very confused Sixer appeared in the hallway, and Bill noted with satisfaction that part of his hair was smoking wildly, as if it had just been ablaze. Within moments confusion morphed to fury._

_So maybe he’d twisted the truth about his origins slightly and used him to create a machine that would mean the liberation of his dimension and the deaths of most people he cared about. Talk about holding a grudge. The guy really should get over it already._

_“Bill?” Sixer yelped, his hand moving for the nearest weapon - a gun strapped to his ankle. Ford always had been paranoid. “But, the barrier! But that’s not possible!”_

_“Bill! B-but the b-b-arrier? But that’s not p-p-possible!” Bill crudely mimicked. “Look Sixer, I see your mouth moving, but all I can hear is blah blah oh please don’t kill me Bill, blah.”_

_“Unhand my nephew, you monster!”_

_“Monster? Me? I’m touched. But see, Pine Tree here made a deal. His life for his sister’s. And that means he’s mine now. So I think I’m going to keep my hands on him.” Bill’s body flashed red and his vice-like grip around Dipper tightened. “And you? You’re not even going to remember any of this happened, you pathetic old man.” Bill growled, gleefully watching as Sixer’s face fell, despair twisting the man’s features. He had been waiting to see that face for thirty years.“Dipper…” he moaned, pronouncing the name sorrowfully, as if he were attending Pine Tree's funeral. “What have you done?”_

_“Only make the best decision ever since the beginning of his existence.” Bill retorted. “Nap time, you glorified pensioner.” He snarled, snapping his fingers and Ford’s body crumpled to the ground, his head smashing into the wooden floorboards, the sound ringing out like an explosion in the now silent Shack._

_“Ooooh, that looked like it hurt. I hope that hurt.” He muttered, floating over the slumped body. Heh good riddance to old annoyances._

_Fez was nowhere to be seen. He was probably off pawning a rock or something to a braindead traveller for a hundred bucks._

_He giggled at the sight of the stairs. "Ah, memories."_

_Dipper’s room was remarkably similar to how it had been when he was twelve. The only major difference was the lack of Shooting Star’s presence. The room was notably devoid of any posters featuring the sibling’s crazy crush of the day. For the first time, Pine Tree had been free to decorate without the influence of his sister, and the result was so, well, Dipper._

_The kid’s room was a mess, and when a being of pure chaos says a mess, that means something._

_The floor could barely be seen beneath crumpled scraps of paper that had been rolled into tight wads before being discarded, and books lay scattered, their open pages staring up at him, untidy, spindly letters violently shoved into their corners and between their lines. Their words had been just as angrily circled, highlighted and underlined._

_An assortment of objects - Bill vaguely recognised some of them, a faded dinosaur fang, a torn flyer for Greasy's Diner, a battered flashlight that had once had a small crystal strapped to its front, as conquests from the boy's adventures - were cluttered and chaotically placed in any available space along wooden surfaces._

_The bed in the corner was unmade, the covers half-falling off the sides; partly brushing against the floorboards as if their owner had hurriedly thrown them off earlier that morning.  A laden bookcase was propped up against the wall opposite, from which the bindings for Journal 4 and 6 were visible._

_He laid the sleeping boy on his bed, grinning as an idea slowly formed. Most meatsacks didn’t wear clothes when they slept._

_He stripped Dipper slowly. He could have done it instantly, with magic. But as Bill slipped the shirt off of the boy, he didn’t regret his decision. He ran his fingers over the exposed flesh of Dipper’s now bare torso. Far from it. He left the kid’s boxers on though. It wouldn’t do to traumatise the boy too much too early._

_He briefly skimmed a finger over the quickly forming mark on his right shoulder. The outline of a triangle already visible from the bruised and reddened flesh. “For me? Oh you shouldn’t have.” He purred. He wished he could stick around long enough to witness Pine Tree’s reaction to it in person. From past observations, he knew the results would be extremely entertaining. He wondered how many times the boy would threaten to banish him. That was always hilarious._

_He remembered how fragile fleshsuits were; they were so stupid, dying from something so weak as the cold. He quickly piled any sort of cover he could see over the boy, hoping that it would be at the minimum, adequate enough to prevent death. It wasn’t like he cared. He just wanted his new pet to have a pulse. At least, for now. He leaned down, pressing his fingers softly to the birthmark. “Sweet dreams, my Pine Tree.”_

_Bill sighed, feeling the pull of the void at the completion of his end of the deal. Despite being forced to return, he was in a good mood. It wasn’t every day he bagged a slave, half-killed Shooting Star and got to severely piss Sixer off. Maybe he’d only incinerate everything in a 20 mile radius this time. He hummed a tune that sounded suspiciously like Another One Bites the Dust, stepping back into the darkness and let himself be catapulted back into his own realm._

**…**

“Oh Pine Tree,” he murmured to the sleeping form huddled in his arms. “We really must stop ending up like this.” To his delight, Dipper shifted slightly, moaning as he pressed himself further against Bill’s front. The kid was covered in blood. Absolutely drenched in the stuff. And Bill couldn’t deny that it didn’t look good on him.

Dipper looked so defenceless while he slept. If it weren’t for the crimson spattered across his face, hands and clothes, he could have easily been mistaken for an angel. Bill wondered how long it would take for that comparison to come to an end.

Just like he’d thought, the kid had been a natural. His pronunciation was slightly off, but he hadn’t expected him to already speak fluent Latin. It had been a long time since he’d heard that incantation. Normally it took weeks of preparation to get it right, so that the speaker didn’t end up themselves as an unplanned side dish. Demonic offering ceremonies were dangerous events. Dipper had pulled it off, practically perfectly, first try.

He’d forgotten how satisfying a good animal sacrifice was. Despite the lack of summoning, he felt a familiar rush of power. The kid would probably realise exactly what the rituals were for, soon. He was too smart not to. Not that it mattered; he couldn’t exactly do anything about it. He had no control over his actions. Just one of many of the perks of being a slave. Though the boy probably didn’t see it that way. For some reason, everyone always protested over the removal of a little freewill.

He looked at what remained of the stag, feeling a flush of pride. There wasn’t much left to look at.  Dipper really had done a good job. He snapped his fingers and the lines of the triangle faded out of existence. No point leaving evidence for Sixer to find. If the plan was going to work then the Pines family would have to wait to find out that their precious little Dipper had switched sides. Unwillingly, of course, but they wouldn’t know that either. _Whatever would they do to the adorable turncoat?_

Dipper’s body trembled in his arms and the boy mewled pathetically. It seemed the poor thing was having a nightmare. _How cute._ He was tempted to slip inside Pine Tree’s mind and join him for an unexpected playdate. But he could already feel his power starting to weaken, the particles of his body threatening to pull apart. One single meal was not enough to sustain him in this dimension for long.

He regretted losing his temper earlier. He had been hoping to play at being the boy’s conscious for longer; enough time to turn the kid against his family without him realising that the voice was not his own, but rather Bill’s. Suggesting murder had not been the best way to announce his presence. Yet he couldn’t stop himself; Pine Tree had admitted the whore harassing him was aesthetically pleasing.

He reached into Dipper’s pocket, retrieving the slip of paper, and watched, satisfied, as it fluttered above his palm, dancing joyfully in celebration of its newfound freedom. Then erupted into flames, leaving only a pile of blackened ash that rose, scattering away despite the lack of even a slight breeze. **No one would take his Pine Tree from him.**

Pine Tree had soon fallen into line when he had realised exactly what position he was in. It was amazing what a little threat of murder and arson could accomplish.

His one eye regarded the shaking form currently nuzzling into him as far as it possibly could.

It would be so easy to just pull the boy into the Mindscape now, but Bill knew if he did, his Pine Tree would resent him and even try to escape. No, Bill had to bide his time. Tear the happy little family apart and wait for Dipper to come to the Mindscape, to him, willingly.

And when he did it would be a never-ending party, with hosts that never died. Oh the fun they’d have. He had so much to teach the boy. So many things, like mutilation and how to properly torture a person, causing them to plead for death.

Anyone could carry out a torture. Hardly anyone could carry out a torture so well the victim passed out within five minutes from the amount of pain hitting their system.

By the time he was done with him, the boy would be every bit as twisted as Bill Cipher. He would live for the surge of power that came with watching the life slip away from another’s eyes.

And it would all begin with the death of the lovely Mabel Pines. He knew the girl was already concerned for her brother. And her suspicions were only growing. Fleshbags really were far too curious for their own good.

He grinned. So many ways. Drowning. Strangling. Decapitation. The images of multiple Mabel corpses, each of them disfigured beyond recognition, flashed brightly across his body, blurring by too fast to be properly distinguishable. The images slowed, fizzled to a stop, then disappeared, the brick pattern returning.

It was going to be a hell of a ride, and Bill knew he was going to thoroughly enjoy every moment of it. Any boredom that had set in over the last century had quickly dissipated.

Dipper was still sleeping fitfully, his long, butterfly lashes fluttering as he tossed and turned in Bill's arms. He probably wouldn’t wake up for a while, which would give Bill enough time to return both of them to the shack and finish inspecting the condition of his new goods.

“Perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should be worried about how much I enjoy writing these. Oh well.  
> ṨẨṈἺŦẎ’Ṩ ṎṾ€ṜṜẨŦ€Ḏ ẨṈẎẀẨẎ. 
> 
> Next chapter doesn't have a gore warning. ἪẨἪ ḠṎṎḎ ṎṈ€. It might not even have deaths threats. ḸἺҜ€ ŦἪ€Ẏ’ḸḸ Ḃ€ḸἺ€Ṽ€ ŦἪẨŦ.
> 
> Anyway, I'll see all you Ḏ€ḸἺḈἺṎỪṨ Ṃ€ẨŦṨẨḈḰṨ on Saturday.  
> ~ Μΰί
> 
> ELOO ZDV KHUH


	8. The Hint of a Ship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bill and Dipper have a bonding session over poetry, er, *checks notes* death threats and obsessive behaviour/stalking? W-Well, this just got awkward. Hah…

Dipper’s breath fluttered as his head rested against the back of the wall, the harshness of the wood biting into his skull, his eyes scrunched shut in a failing attempt to ignore the triangle absorbed in a monologue opposite him. It was a pose Dipper had now become overly familiar with.

Lately he been trying to ignore a lot of things. Like the constant presence of the most evil being he knew. The fact that he was now a serial deer murderer. The fact that animal sacrifice was now part of his daily routine. And the fact that sometimes he caught himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, Bill wasn’t a complete bastard. He didn’t know which frightened him the most.

He leaned back, exhaling deeply.

It had been a week. A week since he’d sold his soul. Other than a newfound weight that seemed to crush itself against his shoulders, he didn’t feel any different to before.  Although that could just have easily have been the crushing guilt that had crashed down on him ever since he’d killed that first stag. 

He'd been expecting karma to have caught up in the form of some terrifying nightmare, but other than the first one, where he'd been fucking impaled, his dreams had remained unusually Dipper-death free. He wondered if that was due to Bill's interference. Though if it was, the dream demon had failed to cure his insomnia. Dipper's head barely touched his pillow until at least after 3am.

He had the pronunciation mastered now, although the ritual still drained all of his energy - though he now at least remained conscious after its completion - leaving Bill to play janitor and carry Dipper’s exhausted body back to the Shack each time. 

Not that he minded. Nothing about cleaning up deer guts, or whatever had been unfortunate enough to run into him that evening, struck him as particularly fun, and though Dipper was loathe to admit it, something about being in Bill’s arms made him feel safe. Being carried by the illuminacho was his favourite part of the night. Not that rummaging around inside animal carcasses was much of a runner up.

It was laughable, he knew, feeling safe around the being that so often joked about the many painful deaths he could experience. But he couldn’t shake the feeling, even if he desperately wanted to. For being made seemingly of bricks, Bill was warm, and felt surprisingly soft to touch. He held him like his mother used to after he’d had a nightmare. It was oddly comforting. And so safe in Bill’s arms he continued to feel.

And then Bill would half-kill him, and remind Dipper that no, he should not be feeling oh so cosy in the being’s arms. He should not be feeling oh so cosy at all.

“…but the way you slaughtered that pixie? Masterful! I mean, ripping it’s wings off? Even I’m impr- Hey Pine Tree? Pine Tree?” Bill growled. “ ** _Pine Tree.”_** His voice was low and menacing, and Dipper shivered, instantly snapped out of his reverie.

“It’s rude not to listen when someone’s talking kid. Especially when that someone’s me.” Bill chirped in a sing-song voice. Anyone who didn’t know him would have thought that he was being playful. That he wasn’t contemplating the sudden dismemberment of the offender. How Dipper wished he could be one of those oblivious people. They had no idea how lucky they were.

“Y-yeah, sorry Bill.” Thankfully, all his limbs remained attached to his body, and Bill resumed his speech, seemingly appeased. The words refused to make sense of themselves, and Dipper found himself instead listening to a messy unintelligible stream of gibberish that he probably should be understanding, but no matter how much he tried to decipher them, just couldn’t.

He tiredly ran a hand through his hair, wincing as his fingers found large flecks of dried blood. He’d have to shower before breakfast tomorrow. He didn’t fancy explaining the reason for the temporary new hair colour to Mabel. She wasn’t the type to believe he’d had the sudden, inexplicable urge to dye his hair magenta.

He felt his leg falling asleep, and adjusted his stance slightly. His arm protested at the movement and he felt the gashes on his wrist pulse, the cracked skin about to re-open.  _Who knew pixies could bite so hard?_ He could never let Mabel find out her brother was a fairy killer. She'd cried at Tinkerbell's 'death' in Peter Pan. And Tinkerbell was a bitch who'd attempted murder. He never wanted to see her reaction when she found out that he had ripped an innocent pixie's wings off and slashed its throat to use as a starter to feed Bill. She would never forgive him.

It had been a week since he had murdered discount Bambi number one. And every night since, Bill had him traipsing through the forest in the darkness to continue his personal vendetta against the woodland creatures of Gravity Falls’ forests.

It was extremely depressing to venture out to the forest in the day now, given that all the creatures, ordinary and supernatural alike, ran away. Ran away from him. Because they didn’t want to their guts to end up as a snack for the demon that had apparently decided to room with him.

He partly opened one eye slowly, and gazed at the demon through the half-lid. Bill’s form was much more  _solid_  in appearance now, and unlike at the beginning, when he had only been able to appear for a couple of minutes at a time, he was now able to leave the Mindscape almost indefinitely.

It hadn’t been until the third ritual that Dipper had noticed a visible change; when Bill had appeared fully formed in an explosion of light, rather than the usual slow horror show of bricks knitting themselves together, and the horrible realization of why he currently had his fingers deeply embedded in animal intestines had dawned on him. Bill was using the ‘meals’ to gain power to sustain himself out of the Mindscape. He was planning to permanently hop into Dipper’s dimension. And instead of stopping his arch enemy, he was  _aiding_ him.

No, Dipper was opening the door and showing him the welcome mat. Because if he didn’t everyone he knew and cared for would die. Not for the first time, he found himself contemplating whether he'd have been better off just dying and letting Mabel become a wolf raged out on steroids. 

He wasn’t fully corporeal yet; only Dipper could see him. Which meant that none of his family were grabbing the assortment of weapons they owned and embarking on a dream demon hunt. When he’d asked, Bill had explained it in overly complicated dialogue; separate planes of existence that were layered in each dimension, but it basically meant that he was currently in the same position Dipper had been in when Bill inhabited his body. Pretty much a ghost.

The conversation had not made Dipper feel any better about the situation. He had shot down the flash of sympathy; he knew exactly how not having a body felt and almost felt bad for the unplanned lodger. That sympathy promptly died when he quickly reminded himself whose fault it was that he had that share of the experience in the first place.

And so no one but Dipper knew Bill was back.

Another joy of being ‘bonded’. Dipper bit back a sour growl. Other than his soul being linked to Bill’s and getting to hear the demon’s nasal voice 24/7, he still didn’t even know what that meant. Unfortunately Bill’s powers, though somewhat weakened, were still present. As were his obnoxious behaviour and snarky comments.

Dipper had released a girlish shriek when the triangle had materialized unannounced behind Mabel’s head the previous day, the coffee mug falling from his grasp and smashing on impact as the demon announced his presence back to the world with an emphasized blink in his direction. He had explained later that he’d been winking. With only one eye, it had been difficult to tell. Mabel had instantly pounced on him, clearly worried, but he’d passed the scream off as a reaction to  _an annoying bug_.

The fog that night had left him feeling as if he’d just been smashed into by a truck.

But he knew he’d raised his twin’s suspicions. Thankfully, both Stan and Ford had kept their distance; Stan being too busy extracting as much cash as possible from any tourist dumb enough to pay over thirty bucks for a stone he'd had Mabel dig up from behind the Shack earlier, or as he peddled them,  _troll teeth_ and Ford being too busy with… just about anything. He knew whatever it was that was occupying his great uncle had to be important – Ford wasn’t the type to bother with small, inconsequential matters – but part of him couldn’t help the resentment towards the man from building.

He had been obsessed with the Author for an entire Summer, idolized him, prayed that one day he would know their identity. And then it turned out that his idol was related to him. That he shared blood with the Author. That the Author was now living with him. And yet he hardly ever saw him, and Ford spent the time when he wasn’t locked away down in the lab, locked in screaming matches with Stan. Mostly over the entire turning-his-home-into-a-freak-attraction thing (How could you Stanley?) or rebuilding the portal (Do you have any idea how dangerous that was Stanley?), but sometimes over allowing Dipper’s younger self to regularly encounter and battle the paranormal (He was just a boy Stanley. He could have died). He had never recognized the fact that it had been Dipper to find the journal, Dipper to crack all the codes left behind. Dipper who had saved the town on multiple occasions.

And that hurt.

He felt the static in his mind pick up and plucked the closest book up off one of the piles surrounding his bed like some sort of protective barrier (like that would do any good, Bill could probably ignite all the stacks with his pinkie), opening it to a random page and lifting it to cover his face. He’d come to understand that the brunt of the buzz would be present whenever Bill wasn’t hanging about in the immediate vicinity or doing whatever he did in his head. The fog was the worst. It seemed to come and go randomly. Unless he’d made Bill angry.

Most times it would just leave him sluggish and irritable. He’d snap at everyone over meals and Mabel would watch him, hurt flickering in her eyes before he’d grab his plate from the table and lock himself in his room. And then other times, when it was being used as a punishment, it would twist round his mind, squeezing his thoughts so hard that he almost choked, to the point where he could feel his sanity crumbling and he'd know, that with one little push, Bill could drive him completely insane.

Between the increased static and the usual bout of insomnia, he figured he wouldn't be falling asleep anytime soon. He could feel Bill's eye on him. Watching him hungrily, continuing his habit of permanently staring in his direction. It was incredibly unnerving.

“Do you watch me sleep? Because that’s just creepy.”

Bill merely shrugged, muttering something that sounded like, “Always watching.”

Dipper quirked an eyebrow. “So you’ve been stalking me.”

If Bill had a mouth, he swore it’d be smiling. He could picture it easily; a slightly crooked Cheshire cat-like grin that stretched to the triangle’s edges just above his bow tie. Bill was as insane as any of Wonderland’s inhabitants, he’d fit in perfectly. Hell, he figured the Mad Hatter was probably saner than the entity currently swinging its legs off the top of his bookcase.

“Stalking?” Bill snorted, sounding almost insulted at the word. “I prefer observing extremely closely without your knowledge and/or consent.” He purred, voice tinged with pride.

Dipper rolled his eyes. “Stalking – to harass or persecute someone with unwanted and obsessive behaviour. At least, according to Google.” He casually turned the page he had been pretending to read. “And ‘always watching’ sounds pretty obsessive to me,  _stalker.”_

“At least  _I_ haven’t written a book on you.” Bill retorted.

“Yeah, a book on how to stop you if you try and take over this dimension. Not on your sleeping habits.” Dipper shot back. Silence followed, an awkward blanket of nothingness that hung unnaturally in the air, and Dipper knew he'd fucked up.

The relationship between the two, whatever it was, was still extremely complicated. Dipper knew he should hate him. End of. If Ford was asked to give his opinion on the entity it would be far from positive. Dipper doubted it would even be family friendly. And yet…

On one hand Bill was the all-powerful demon that had declared war on his family and was trying to take over the dimension that owned his soul. On the other, Bill was the all-powerful demon that had declared war on his family and was trying to take over the dimension that owned his soul and was acknowledged, by a very small part of him, as the closest to a friend Dipper had. Sad, he knew.

It felt odd calling the demon anything other than a grade A asshole. But despite his best efforts for them not to, their interactions were becoming increasingly similar to the banter shared between childhood buddies. And the buzz in his mind always lessened to a possibly even comfortable degree whenever the demon was nearby. Comfortable degree being that it didn’t feel like his ears were being assaulted by an army of extremely angry wasps whenever he tried to complete anything other than basic actions. He could almost forget about its presence. Almost.

It had been a long time since Dipper could hold a conversation and stay interested throughout its entirety, but conversations with Bill, if a little terrifying at times, were exactly that. Interesting. It was the first proper social interaction he’d had with anyone other than his family in months. And so Dipper found himself conflicted, torn between the way his feelings sometimes unwantedly shifted in favour towards the unexpected roommate.

Fortunately, Bill’s plans for his universe, and Dipper’s insistence that he would stop them, remained a sore spot for the both of them, and meant that Dipper could prevent himself from wholeheartedly jumping onto Team Bill. Exactly what Bill had planned, Dipper did not know. But he knew it would definitely be not good. That it would be at the top of many of his lists titled ‘Things that Would Definitely Not be Good.’  And that it would probably include a lot of murder.

“Hey Pine Tree,” Bill eventually spoke. His body glowed softly as he casually floated over, landing on top of the bed in the empty space beside Dipper. “Yes, your highness?” He bit out. Bill’s one eye rolled but his colour remained the same obnoxious yellow. He seemed to enjoy Dipper’s sarcasm, though in the same way someone would enjoy watching a puppy perform tricks.

“Read to me.”

“What?”

Exhaustion, confusion and indignation fought a three-way battle as panic clawed at his throat from the sudden invasion of his personal privacy. He knew he should push the demon off, or run down the hall screaming for Mabel, but his legs felt like lead and it probably wouldn’t be in his best interests to punch the very temperamental demon with fire powers in the very wooden shack.

“Read,” Bill gestured to the uneven stacks of books reaching towards the rafters in their miniature towers. “To me.”

Exhaustion won. He sighed heavily, but didn’t pull away. “Er, okay.” If Bill noticed his reluctance he chose to ignore it.

Dipper tried to ignore the spark of warmth that shot through him as the triangle leaned itself against his hips, pulling the edges of his hoodie over its front in an improvised blanket. He searched his memory for something suitable, something he thought Bill would at least tolerate, maybe even enjoy.

_“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,_

_And sorry I could not travel both_

_And be one traveler, long I stood_

_And looked down one as far as I could_

_To where it bent in the undergrowth;_

_Then took the other, as just as fair,_

_And having perhaps the better claim,_

_Because it was grassy and wanted wear;_

_Though as for that the passing there_

_Had worn them really about the same,_

_And both that morning equally lay_

_In leaves no step had trodden black._

_Oh, I kept the first for another day!_

_Yet knowing how way leads on to way,_

_I doubted if I should ever come back._

_I shall be telling this with a sigh_

_Somewhere ages and ages hence:_

_Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—_

_I took the one less traveled by,_

_And that has made all the difference”_

 

Bill grunted when he had finished. “Yellow woods." He murmured knowingly, as if he were an expert on the subject. "I approve. Didn’t think you’d be a fan of poetry though Pine Tree.”

Dipper chuckled. “Your observational skills must be slipping, Mr Stalker.” Despite the company, he grinned. “I like the mystery of it. People have argued for decades over its meaning. It could be this huge metaphor for the inevitability of choice, a celebration for the importance of decision-making over whim. Or, it could simply be about one guy picking a path to walk down.”

“You mortals and your pathetic quest to force a deeper meaning out of anything.”

“You demons and your inability to enjoy anything that comes from humans other than blood.”

“I didn’t say I didn't enjoy it. It was…pleasant.” Bill hummed, body vibrating at the action, and Dipper found himself more aware than ever of the shape currently resting against him.  “I just don’t see the point of it. Why analyse it to death instead of simply reading it as it is?”

“Some of us like to imagine that things have deeper meanings to give our lives a bigger purpose, other than simply existing.”

“But that’s so-“

“Human.” Dipper finished, his voice a faint whisper, his mind calling a strike as he finally ran out of the energy required to string anything over two words together. He wasn’t sure if it was the demon acting as a cuddly hot water bottle or the fact that he’d fought off a fairy earlier, but Dipper was about to pass out. He shut his eyes, pushing himself further into the wall.

Bill seemed to sense that the conversation had ended and remained silent, but continued to lean his body deeper into Dipper’s. He inwardly sighed. It wouldn’t be the most awkward position he had slept in. Against his better judgement, he found himself muttering a half intelligible “Good night, Bill.” And he was forced to hide his surprise behind a weak cough when Bill murmured “Good night, Pine Tree.” In response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cutesy moment in a MUI fic? What is this sorcery?! Could it be that even demons have a soft side? *Hides laughter* Pfft as if! Poor Dipper’s getting played so bad! Enjoy that lovely bonding BillDip moment while you can, because next week is back to the shadows *Hisses at the light*.
> 
> Poem's 'The Road Less Travelled' by Robert Frost. Yellow woods, Bill approves. 
> 
> Next update will be on Monday, rather than Tuesday because sadly, life exists, and I figured I'd prefer getting it out by Monday rather than spending all Wednesday cooped up in my room to rush a chapter. So instead I will be spending all Wednesday cooped up in my room. Though afterwards will be a return to the regular update schedule. 
> 
> See all you lovelies then, sayonara  
> ~ MUI


	9. Stabbing Someone is as Simple as A, B, C

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stabbing, a shipping and a Dorito that's not such a Dorito anymore. (Let loose the fangirls)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Low level violence warning. I have to admit writing this chapter almost killed me (or maybe it was the writing on a laptop at 3am part that did that), so I'll probably come back to it in the future to improve parts, but it's over for now.

His first thought, as his eyes darted up to glance at the ominous sky hanging above his head, was that horror movie directors had been surprisingly accurate. The moon seemed to have forgotten its existence, having been covered by large grey shapes that could only be described as foreboding. The clouds hung dejectedly, as if even they didn’t want to be there. He figured all that was missing was a stray bolt of electricity. It was not, by any definition of the word, a pleasant night. It was however, one of the most perfect nights for those in a particular occupation. Whether willing or not.

Dipper ran a hand through his shaggy hair, the fingers trembling with nerves as they furiously raked the curls out of, then back into, place. It was a habit he had developed when he was younger, and had never grown out of. They tugged briefly at the ends, then dropped to his neck, pulling the hood upwards, casting his already darkened face into further shadow. He suspected he was one hockey mask away from a starring role in some rated R flick.

“You look like a perfect little psychopath.” As if reading his mind – who was he kidding, of course he had, Bill grinned, form flickering as he floated above his shoulder. Dipper grunted in annoyance. “Let’s just get this over with.” He growled, though his voice was lacking the bravado he was attempting to hide behind, and instead came out a shaky whisper. Dipper Pines may not have meant to have been a salesman, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be a murderer any better.

To an onlooker, that title was even less fitting than the one that had accompanied his previous employment. Despite his adult exterior, the man still possessed a babyish innocence in his eyes, and though he wished the awkward smile that usually played on his lips came across as mature, Dipper knew that it remained the exact same one he had shared with his twelve year old self. As Mabel announced regularly and to his constant dismay, her brother had remained as innocent and adorable as a kitten.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, flinching as he felt the jolt of metal cut against skin. The hunting knife was now a worryingly familiar accessory; he packed it with him like he used to do the journals, taking it everywhere, other than when he was on shift, when he would stuff it beneath his pillow.

His Grunkles wouldn’t bat an eye at the appearance of the weapon on his person; Stan would probably gruffly voice his opinion that it was about time the boy followed the family tradition of extreme paranoia and carried a firearm with him at all times; a knife was at least a starting point, but Mabel wouldn’t applaud his return to the old family values. She would say he was being irresponsible and state that he’d probably stab himself before he stabbed anyone even as remotely as suspicious as a burglar.

He pressed his back against the wall, flattening his body to the cold brick as someone hurried by. If they happened to look up they would see a moping, angsty teen, who would glare in their direction. Rather than a reluctant killer glaring at a gloating yellow triangle who blinked exaggeratedly back, shouting “ ** _WINK!”_**  into the alley loudly, though only one person would be able to hear.

He’d known Bill wasn’t going to have him keeping the deer population in check indefinitely. He just hadn’t anticipated the move from animal to human to have come so soon. Then again, at least the demon hadn’t just popped into existence, thrown a knife in his direction and pointed at the nearest possible victim, ordering “kill” on the first day. Like he had been expecting him to.

He clenched his jaw. Trying to ignore the feeling of gratitude – yes, fuck, why was he feeling _gratitude_ of all things towards Bill?

“So, who is this guy again?”

He knew exactly who it was. He hadn’t been able to get the name out of his head, ever since Bill had casually announced the evening’s destination earlier.  But frankly, he just needed the conversation. Right now, anything was a welcome distraction. Even talking to a deranged triangle.

“Albert Hertz. The guy is into some weird stuff. Weird even for me.”

Albert Hertz. The first man he was ever going to kill. Dipper could feel himself already about to start hyperventilating. His legs shook, but he forced himself to stay upright. From the long list of atrocities Bill had been only too happy to read to him, he knew Mr Hertz probably deserved life in state prison. Rape, attempted murder, kidnapping. Hertz had slipped through the cracks of the system on accounts of lack of evidence. It also probably helped that he was an ex-judge.

“And they say I’m evil!” Bill had laughed as he’d wiped away an invisible tear from the corner of his eye. "Some of you fleshbags should just drop dead, don't you agree?"

Dipper did agree. Hertz was scum that probably deserved to die. He just wished it wasn’t him holding the other end of the knife.

The thought emitted a loud, raucous sob throughout his body, and his legs realised that they no longer wanted to support the upper half of his body. He bit his lip hard enough and felt a harsh metallic intrusion into his mouth.

“Hey Pine Tree. It’s going to be okay,” Bill murmured, patting him surprisingly gently on the back. Was the demon trying to comfort him? It was strange; the triangle that had promised his painful wiping from existence now patting him on the back, like a sports coach who’d just given his favourite player a pep talk. But Dipper appreciated it nonetheless. “Stabbing someone is as simple as A, B, C.”

_Well so much for that ‘comforting’ rally._

He highly doubted that, but nodded, mouth dry as he pushed off the wall, shoulders squared in determination. He could do this. He could do this, he could so totally…

 

 

Not do this.

 

 

He stumbled down the street, awkwardly forcing one leg in front of the other, earning a few strange looks from the people he passed. He hoped they just thought he was drunk. He probably looked drunk, right? Right? Just some drunk and not a soon-to-be murderer?

Anxiety gnawed at his stomach, deeper with every passing second _._ His breaths were short, stuttering gasps. He’d forgotten how to breathe properly a good five minutes ago. _What if they didn’t think he was drunk? What if he looked too suspicious? What if they called the cops?_ Blubs and Durland may not be the most competent of officers, but even they would take him in after a quick search through his pockets. Knives tended to be pretty incriminating.

He slammed into someone and stuttered out an apology, even in the darkness feeling their eyes linger on him far longer than normal. He panicked. _Theyknewtheyknew they knew exactly where he was going and what he was going to do and he was going to go to jail and they’d call his Grunkles to pay bail and Mabel would find out and she’d kill him and-_

His heart jackhammered against his chest as he forced himself to ignore his instincts and walk, not sprint, away. Because that wouldn’t look suspicious in the slightest. He waited for the inevitable call back of, “Hey stop right there,” but it didn’t come. They just shrugged and sauntered off. He was still feeling the shockwaves from the collision when they reached their destination.

From the outside there was nothing distinctly notable about the place. It was reasonably large for only one owner – he hoped Hertz lived alone. He did not want to have to kill another simply because they were in the house at the time. It was at best average; not in as much disrepair as the Shack, but certainly heading in that direction. He could barely make out grimy walls with peels of paint chipping off. At one point it may have looked welcoming. Now it looked like the sort of house a serial killer kept his victims chained up in. Oh the irony. His eyes fell to the open window in front of him. Some people could be really dumb. Not that he was complaining. Anything that would make his job easier was always appreciated.

The first thing that hit him upon entering Albert Hertz’s abode was the smell. God, the place reeked. He’d thought that the Shack had smelled bad after one of Mabel’s infamous parties (Known for their Mabel Magic and awful next days after). He swore to himself then to never complain about the sensory aftermaths of those ever again.

Booze and cigarettes. From the amount of bottles scattered across the floor – all of them long sucked dry, and the lingering stench of nicotine that invaded his lungs and threatened to push him into a hacking fit, it was highly probable Hertz was a heavy alcoholic and smoker. His nose leapt up in disgust. The two were not a good combination. The second thing that hit him was Albert Hertz.

Dipper saw stars as the back of his head suddenly found itself assaulted by clammy stubs that gripped his scalp as he was grabbed from behind and slammed into the wall. The side of his skull exploded, the world seeming to tilt as his vision distorted, the image of his attacker blurred, though even through his daze, he could tell that Hertz was huge. His hulking form was built like a grizzly bear. And apparently just as violent.

And it was then that Dipper realized just as he hadn’t been prepared to kill Albert Hertz, Albert Hertz wasn’t prepared to die.

Dipper had been in plenty of fights in his life. It came with the territory of being the loner nerdy guy in high school. Being hauled up by his arm and dragged into some unseen corner in the yard, and being forced to defend himself from the rain of punches directed at his face had been a regular occurrence for the most part of his teen years. The only difference was those had only been in defence of a black eye the next day. And he had been on an almost equal footing with those facing him.

Hertz was stronger than him, older than him and had surprise on his side. But Dipper still had the advantage of the knife. The only problem was that he remained extremely reluctant to use it. Because Hertz’s punches hurt, fuck – he screeched as the fist connected in a brutal impact with his solar plexus – did they hurt. But they did not kill.

It was only when Hertz’s hands locked around his neck and _tightened_ and Dipper realised that he was going to die. _He was going to die in some stranger’s house and his family wouldn’t even know – would Bill bring them back his body?_ He highly doubted that, Bill wasn’t exactly the type who exerted effort for something as insignificant as closure for a grieving family. _What even happened when you died without a soul?_

Then, and only then, did he resort to the blade in his pocket.

Because Dipper, for all his protests that he wouldn’t, couldn’t, take the life of another, of someone who had a family who loved them and would be mourned by those they left behind, shared that one base human instinct that all have shared since the very beginning of the species’ existence, which overwrites everything, even morals burned into young, impressionable minds and enforced by each person met, over countless years. **Dipper did not want to die**.

He struggled against the fingers that were blocking his airways, his throat burning as his brain tried to comprehend reality even with the noticeable lack of an immediate supply of oxygen.

Dipper threw one leg out, placing all of his energy into one blow, and kicked Hertz in the chest.

The elder screeched in surprise and dropped him. Dipper didn’t give him a chance to recover.  He threw himself at Hertz, using the momentum to knock him to the ground in a rough tackle.

He slammed Hertz’s head into the stone tile – payback for the nasty bruise he knew would be formed on the side of his skull upon his waking the next day, unless Bill was in a helpful healing mood. Although judging from the fact that Bill was just floating there, staring at him, he highly doubted he could expect any help on the healing front. Or any help at all.

He climbed over the man, straddling him to prevent the body below from rising.

He slipped the blade out from his pocket, feeling the familiar increase of weight between his fingers, the difference that before had been so alien but now felt so natural.

He hesitated, breath laboured, blade lingering directly over Hertz’s stomach. He was vaguely aware of streaks of wetness on his cheeks. At some point he must have started crying.

Part of him recoiled at the thought of what was coming next. What he was about to do next. _Was he really going to kill a man?_ Part of him was screaming that Hertz deserved this – probably the part most influenced by Bill. And then Hertz’s coiled fist slammed into his jaw and any reservations disappeared.

He didn’t know how much it would take to kill a man. It wasn’t something he had ever looked into. He’d figured he’d never need to know. So he just kept stabbing and hoped it would be over soon.

Within the first flurry of jabs, Dipper decided that horror movies weren’t so accurate after all. Killing someone was fucking messy, hard work and exhausting. 

 

After the first thrust Hertz tried to buck him off.

But Dipper didn’t budge.

After the second the man was pleading for him to stop.

But Dipper continued.

After the fourth he tried to bribe him.

Dipper snorted at that one. People always believed they could buy anything with money.

After the fifth he cursed Dipper to hell, and then spat in his face.

Dipper didn’t care; he figured he was destined to end up in Hell whatever happened. Heaven didn’t take kindly to those who made deals with devils. So he wiped the spit off and continued.

On the seventh his body went limp, but a slur of words continued to pour from his mouth.

He went into shock on the eighth. In shock, but still alive.

 

“I think he’s dead.” Bill announced drily, eyeing the twelve new additions to Albert Hertz’s flesh. The meatsack was indeed dead; he’d kicked the bucket sometime around the ninth or tenth stab. Honestly it was surprising he’d made it past the fourth.

He knew he’d liked the kid for a reason, but the way Pine Tree had gone practically feral had been…beautiful. It was like some switch in Dipper’s head had flipped, and all those silly little morals, _murder is wrong, violence isn’t the answer, mutilation isn’t the socially accepted method to dealing with your problems_ , had flipped with it. Bill decided that he would personally make sure that switch stayed flipped. Permanently.

The boy shuddered, clearly on the brink of losing his sanity. Well that wouldn’t do. Couldn’t have his Pine Tree losing his precious grasp of reality too early.  Not when their fun was only just beginning.

Dipper figured he was going insane. He’d just killed a man. Broken into their house and killed an innocent man. He thought back to the list. Ok, so scratch that ‘innocent’ part. It didn’t change the fact that he, Dipper Pines, was a murderer. He was now more wanted than Stan. He gulped. That was not a pleasant thought.

This. His body shuddered as he suppressed another sob. He hadn’t wanted this. Had never wanted this. And yet what could he do? Fuck all. Dipper thought to himself, teetering on the edges of his conscious, before he felt a hand – Bill’s hand – softly run over his curls, pulling him slowly back into his surroundings. He found himself leaning into it, craving it almost. He was forced to swallow his pride and finally accept that yes, he was indeed grateful for Bill’s presence.

Dipper’s entire world was being ripped away as everything he had been taught – lectures from his parent over rights and wrongs, berating’s from Mabel and the Grunkles – and everything he had stood for – his codes, his morals, the lines he would **not** , would **never** , cross – vanished.  And if he didn’t have those, then what was he?

 

 

Nothing

 

 

Nothing but a pile of flesh with a pulse.

For better or worse (most definitely for worse) Bill was the one constant right then that allowed him to remember who he was. He was Dipper Pines, the boy who would do anything to protect his family. Who had done whatever it had taken to become his sister’s hero. The poster demon for insanity was currently the only reason for his retaining any sanity at all.

He laughed at that, but it became a hiccup, and he sobbed towards its conclusion, now openly crying. Fat, wet, tears that rolled down his cheeks and landed with loud, conspicuous splats on the already heavily stained floor. Dipper tried to ignore the fact that the previously grey tiles were now a darkened burgundy.

And Bill didn’t laugh at him. Didn’t even make a snide comment. Just kept petting his hair as he made soothing, hushing sounds.

Through his tears he somehow manged to mumble “Oblatum per caro et os, permanens in domum suam dare ad dominum meum.”

He didn’t care that the words were new. He didn’t care that for once his hands weren’t forcing themselves into open ribcages and playing paint with their contents. Thank god they weren’t playing paint with their contents. He just wanted to lay down at Bill’s feet and sleep.

He guessed he must have done half of just that, because next thing he knew, the ground was rushing up to meet his face.

Then Bill’s arms were scooping him up, Bill’s chest humming its strange vibrations against his form, Bill’s eye staring down at him, blinking slowly. Bill’s voice softly praising him, Bill’s words telling him he did such a good job. Bill Bill Bill.

The stench of booze. The corpse on the floor. Dipper shut everything else out. Maybe he really had lost it.

He giggled.

He breathed in Bill. Pushed himself further into Bill. Felt Bill’s bow tie against his cheek. He felt his eyes closing. Maybe it was a bad idea to sleep around a dream demon. It was definitely a bad idea to sleep around Bill. But his eyes closed anyway.

Oh.

Maybe he really had lost it.

**…**

If animal sacrifice was a meal then human sacrifice was a five star Michelin 3 course dinner. And Bill absolutely revelled in it, feeling the flow of power – only a sliver, but enough.

He had felt the pull of the void lessen. Felt that irritating callback function of his prison stutter and then cease. And it had felt good. It had felt so much better than good.

How long had it been since he could feel? Oh right, 6 years. Heh. Pine Tree really had been one of his favourite puppets. He’d had the most beautiful responses. It was just a shame Shooting Star had rained on his parade before he could start anything properly fun. Or leave any lasting damage. Not that that mattered now.

Bill smirked as he rammed his hand into his mouth, gleefully poking spindly fingers against the whites of teeth. **_Wow these things are sharp_** _._ The other hand pulled wildly at his hair, jerking it up, before dropping it and giggling when it fell over his eyes.

Eyes. Two of them. Deluxe model. **_Hubba hubba what a looker._** His face broke into a devilish grin as he regarded his reflection in the conjured mirror.  The frame was an ornate design; an array of faces forever preserved, their eyes filled with terror and mouths curved open in eternal screams. In gold, of course. That went without question.

Bill smacked his lips loudly. Lips. **_That was right, he had those now_**. Oh boy, Pine Tree was going to go ballistic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Dipper, why you ackin' so cray cray?
> 
> RIP Dipper's innocence, you lasted till the 8th chapter and shall be sorely missed. But on the bright side, human Bill next chapter. And lets just say Bill still doesn't understand the intricacies of being a fleshsuit. Like wearing anything other than a fleshsuit. *WINK* Heh. Be still my beating fangirl heart. 
> 
> See all you lovelies on Thursday because it's back to regular schedule, no early updates for you :3  
> ~ MUI


	10. The Little Mermabel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill is an asshole. Dipper is paranoid and Mabel wants to know exactly how her awkward brother knows that cute blonde. 
> 
> Mermaids and Sirens. Know your differences kids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy sugar rushes, we passed the 1000 hits mark! *Banner unfurls* Aren't you guys just the greatest! To celebrate, have an extra long chapter with Mabel being a badass, Bill being an ass and Dipper being angsty but freaking adorable. Now, do you want cake to go with that naked Bill Cipher?

When Dipper woke up he had a pounding headache. It had been the first nightmare in a while, and that probably wasn’t helped by the bump the size of a golf ball hanging off the space behind his ear. He lay there for a moment, gaze locked on the space in front of him, listening to the fluttering of his breath that filled the otherwise silent room.

He frowned. It was unusual for his companion to be silent, especially when his suffering was involved. His eyes slid across to the sides of the room, surprise pulling them open wider when they didn’t meet the usual blindingly bright yellow form. Even the usual static in his mind had faded to an almost unnoticeable dull whine.

“B-Bill?” he croaked, mouth dry. He was met by silence.

There was a noticeable lack of dream demons in the room. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that observation. He liked the idea that Bill had finally tired of his existence – maybe he had even found some other kid to plague and make a mortal enemy of.

He gulped and pushed down any feelings of betrayal that were threatening to surface. He was not going and getting attached to the corn chip. If Bill left that was for the best. Dipper just needed to remember that. Without the constant exposure to the demon he might even be able to recover from the past event’s weeks, albeit after countless meds and multiple trips to a psychiatrist.

His eyes fell to the mark on his shoulder, design pronounced clearly against the paled skin. No amount of pills or shrinks would ever fix that. The brand was permanent. Unless Dipper fancied flaying his own skin off. It wasn’t a very appealing idea. _For the best_. He repeated to himself.

A past Dipper – perhaps a slightly saner Dipper – would have practically fallen out of bed in excitement at the prospect of his newly found aloneness. And yet Dipper felt a slight twinge of sadness, a twinge he was unable to suppress despite his best efforts, as he dressed in front of the mirror, the lack of wolf whistles – an action Bill had constantly performed whenever he found himself in a situation lacking a shirt to his mortification – painfully evident.

He sighed angrily. Bill was gone. And he did not care. He forced one arm through a sleeve, watching as the stamp disappeared from sight. He wished it could disappear from his mind as easily. **Did.** His fingers furiously shoved the last button through the hole. **Not.** He violently jammed the cap over his unruly curls. **Care.** He ran a hand over the bump experimentally. Luckily, anyone would believe him if he told them he’d fallen. For once he was thankful for his renowned clumsiness.

His stomach growled in reminder – lately his appetite had grown to an almost unnatural level, to the point that Dipper _consumed_ rather than ate. He padded out the door and down the stairs, fingers absentmindedly pulling at the fabric over the brand as he shuffled through the hallway.

The kitchen was empty and he was thankful for that, though it was obvious he was not its first visitor that morning. Stan and Ford’s whereabouts were unknown, but Mabel’s presence was clear; the table was now sporting flecks of glitter, the remnants of one of his twins’ many breakfast specials. The messy stack of plates had also been added to, the china towering crookedly beside the grimy sink. A pile of toast had been left on one of the less cracked saucers under Stan’s ownership. One of the rare few Dipper hadn’t dropped yet. A cup of coffee had also been placed, completing the meagre offerings.

He tried to ignore the fact that Mabel was purposefully avoiding him, instead choosing to grab a slice from the group and hurriedly lift it to his lips. For once the girl had only crowned the meal with strawberry mush. Good. He wasn’t in the mood to pick inedible sparkles off his food.

He smiled in approval of the beautiful scarlet hue, the colour growing increasingly familiar. And then he remembered the previous night and suddenly he lost his appetite. The toast slipped from his fingers and landed back on the plate with a dull thud, where it stayed. Abandoned.

Despite his attempts to look away, look at literally **anything** else, his eyes remained drawn to the colour, broken snatches of unwanted memory flashing through his mind. _Red on his hands, red on his clothes, red on the blade, red on the floor, red running off the man who screamed as he hacked away, again and again, over and over, until all he could see was red red red red red…_

He fought the urge to run to the bathroom and retch, instead retreating to the mug in front of him. He savoured the sour buzz on his tongue as the liquid hit the backs of his teeth. He drained half the cup in one go, but held himself back from finishing the contents. He had a feeling the mug would be a regular in his hand for the day.

He rubbed his temples, pulling the cap further down to obscure the sight. Now free from the crimson snare, his eyes blinked once, twice. Suddenly he was only far too aware of the closeness of the walls boxing him in, his breath caught in his throat as the entire atmosphere in the kitchen shifted in hostility to him. Feeling unwanted even by inanimate furniture, he slunk out of the room. He needed fresh air.

Mabel’s absence from the kitchen was soon explained. He plastered on a fake smile when his eyes met the back of her form, hoping it didn’t appear as worn as it felt. She was sat on the steps in a position that was horrifyingly similar to the one she had held on _that_ day, her hair tumbling down the small of her back and meeting the wooden planks that her feet were currently kicking off. The sound was dull and hollow. As if all emotion had long fled. It wasn’t even angry. Just dead.

 

Thunk.           Thunk.          Thunk.

 

Her eyes were locked on the forest in front, twisted into a sad stare that he recognised only too well. He was met by the exact same sad stare whenever his gaze found his own reflected face. He followed the direction of her glance, both staying silent, each recalling the innocent days when they’d gripped hands and led each other towards the boundary, eager to rush off to the next adventure, already smiling at the promise of the day, safe in the knowledge that whatever they found would be as weird and amazing as it always was.

His brow creased in reaction to a blur of movement behind the first line of trees. Someone or more likely, something, was just out of sight, hidden by the wall of cover. He felt Mabel stiffen beside him. The shape had her attention too. He readied himself for a gremloblin or killbillie to come crashing into the Shack’s backyard. His eyes widened in shock and horror, but mostly horror, as the form stumbled out of the veil of trees.

“Hey bro, bro,” Mabel whispered, finally breaking the silence. “Who is that, and uh, why are they naked?”

Dipper fought the urge to scream or grab Mabel or run, or scream, grab Mabel and run. Maybe he should have, but instead he found himself frozen, unable to look away from the monstrosity that was making its way towards them.

It was unmistakably Bill. Somehow the Dorito – he guessed he wasn’t much of a Dorito anymore – had managed to get hold of a body. He’d tricked some poor sap, just like he’d tricked Dipper six years ago. And yet something was off about the guy. And no, it wasn’t the fact that his body was currently playing host to the demon who wanted to destroy the world purely for shits and giggles.

If Dipper had to hazard a guess he’d say the guy was somewhere between eighteen and twenty-one; though he could easily have been slightly older; even from a distance it was clear he would be at least a whole head taller than Dipper. A shock of bright amber hair framed his face, slightly dishevelled and with twigs sticking out of it at random intervals. Two of them obviously shared some sort of sense of humour as they stuck out, dramatically protruding from the deep caramel forelocks, reminding Dipper of cheap devil horns – the versions Stan felt compelled to stock the shelves with whenever September rolled around. The kind that cost less than a dollar to make but due to Shack policy were charged at five times that.

The golden mop ended slightly before a distinct jawline, with its front ends falling over startlingly electric blue eyes that spoke only of insanity, which were locked on his own. The cool gaze regarding him was almost predatory.

His face was split apart by a wide grin that would have been goofy if it weren’t for the revealed pearly, straight set teeth that were far too sharp to be even remotely human. It was like someone had replaced the usual ground stubs with the insides of a great white’s maw. As a result, rather than coming across as humorously friendly, the curved grin was downright terrifying.

Every few steps the figure would stumble, their legs jerking out at odd angles as they fell from beneath them, only for control of the limbs to be regained once more, before the shape could increase its acquaintanceship with the ground. It was as if their owner was still learning how to walk.

Muscles stretched as the form moved, pulled taught over sun kissed skin so tanned Dipper appeared almost vampiric in comparison. His gaze travelled downwards and then shot immediately back upwards, stubbornly refusing to travel below the man’s shoulders. Because as Mabel had correctly pointed out, Bill was indeed stark naked. And that was **not** an image he needed.

Oh no. Dipper groaned. He was hot. Why was he hot?

Bill’s grin widened – if it was even possible, as he approached the pair.

Dipper had the sudden urge to throw himself at the blonde’s feet. Or punch him in the middle of his grinning face. He elicited the kind of aura that would make either options easy to enact. Remembering Mabel’s presence, he did neither, electing only to grip the mug in his hand tighter.

Beside him Mabel quickly smoothed her hair into place and pushed her lips into a seemingly innocent pout. “Why hello there.” She purred. Ok ew, no. His sister hitting on Bill. That was another image he did not need right now. Or ever.

“Hey Sh- stranger,” Bill purred right back, extending his hand. Dipper yelped as Mabel accepted it, too-long sweater sleeves meeting spindly fingers, waiting for a burst of cerulean flames to envelop the pair that never came. Bill’s lips pulled upwards at this, as if amused by Dipper’s panic.

“Hello Dipper,” Bill chirped, his eyes crinkling.

“Dippin Dots, you know this guy?” Dipper could hear the unspoken _and I don’t_? In her voice. His sister was definitely going to kill him for not introducing her to the hot stranger earlier. And again, his nose crinkled, just ew.

“Heh, the name’s Bi-“

“William.” Dipper cut in quickly. “This is William. He and I uh, he sometimes comes with me on forest trips.” Okay it wasn’t a total lie. Bill really had come on lots of forest trips with him. Only they weren’t exactly of the sightseeing variety. He battled the urge to throttle ‘William’.

“Yes, Dipper always shows me amazing things. But a few days ago well,” Bill threw his hands up in faux frustration. “I got lost. Ended up losing all my stuff to a bunch of gnomes. Thought I was a goner for sure. I just kept walking. But hey, I found you guys, it must be destiny!”

“Destiny,” Mabel echoed breathily.

Dipper held back a snort. It must have been something all right. But destiny it was not.

“Well William, why don’t you come inside and Dipper can go get you some clothes.”

“Well doesn’t that just sound wonderful?”

It sounded many things. Wonderful was not one of them. But he could do nothing as Mabel nodded happily, grabbed Bill’s hand and led him into the Shack, leaving Dipper to voice his annoyance through a rough growl and hurriedly follow the two inside, hoping he would be fast enough to stop ‘William’ from committing mild level arson.

**…**

“Pine Treeeeeeeee.”Bill whined, pulling at the flannel now covering his chest. He was acting less like an age-old entity and more like a spoiled infant. “It’s itchy and scratchy and I hate it.” He complained sullenly as he lounged on Dipper’s bed that he had claimed as his own – leaping onto it as Dipper only just got managed to get through his door and before he could shout out a protest.

“Tough.” Dipper muttered from the corner he had chosen to place himself in, his arms folded over, glaring at the humanoid he had been forced into playing dress up with, as he pressed his body into the wall. He was still sore over being forced to lend the demon his clothes. Renting his spare boxers to a dream demon had never been something he had ever wished to experience. “Everyone wears them and besides, it’s not like you’ve been floating round wearing nothing but a bow tie this entire time.”

Bill’s hands paused on the skin of his prey, his war on the garments briefly at a ceasefire, though he had fallen silent, only smirking in response. Dipper swallowed, feeling his face redden as he realised exactly what that silence meant. Oh. That was so not information he needed to know.

“Who did you possess anyway?” Dipper grumbled, anxious to change the subject. It was disturbing to say the least, to think that all that time Bill had been messing with him as a pre-teen, Bill had been, well- **NO** he broke the thought off immediately, refusing to let it go any further than it had already. He was not going to let a six year earlier version of Bill contribute to even more life scarring. He had been twelve for fuck’s sake!

Bill snickered, his sharpened canines revealed in full glory. “No one. All this,” he gestured to himself proudly, “is my very own fleshsuit, handmade by yours truly.”

“Oh. Well. Good.” He stuttered. So at least Dipper didn’t have to pull the memory gun on some poor idiot who’d ended up possessed. That was something, at least. It also explained why something had felt off about Bill’s appearance. The bright blue eyes were new, a perfect match to Bill’s own signature flames, nothing like the bright yellow of Bipper or Bill-Deer ( _Beer? Dill? Billeer?_ ). They seemed to be able to pierce right through him.

“Dippingsauce get your ass down here and bring my future husband with you!” Mabel’s muffled voice floated up, saving him from any further response needed, which meant that he didn’t have the chance to make a complete idiot of himself and could still pretend to have a grasp of the English language that didn’t end at the basics, though he flinched at the nickname; there was no way Bill was going to let that go unnoticed.

Sure enough, the demon’s mouth curled into the already extremely aggravating smirk as his eyes crinkled in amusement. “Yes, _Dippingsauce,_ ” he pronounced the name mockingly. “Get your ass down here.”

Dipper groaned, smacking a hand across his face. His fingers were already reaching for the now empty mug that he’d been forced to leave downstairs on the kitchen table. It was highly unlikely he’d make it through the rest of the day without at least two refills.

“Coming Mabes,” he grunted, leaving the room faster than he could ever remember. Unfortunately, Bill followed immediately after him.

**…**

Dipper huffed. Ahead of him Bill and Mabel walked, each far too close to the other for his liking. He’d known he was doomed when Mabel had declared a Mystery Twins Adventure Day in front of Bill, but his fate had been sealed when she’d produced Journal 6, turned to the stranger and demanded he accompany them. And despite Dipper’s protests that Will was _only too busy_ and _really should be going_ , Bill had been only too eager to accept the offer. Which was why he was currently scuffing his heels and trailing behind, eyes narrowed as they watched as his sister openly flirted with Bill fucking Cipher.

He’d seen his twin go boy crazy before, but those had been for males from the same species. Well… Jeff and Mermando, images of leaf blowers and cooler boxes flashed through his head. Mostly human. But none of his sister’s obsessions had ever committed murder, let alone genocide. Sure, Jeff had tried to kidnap her and there was the whole forced marriage thing, but Jeff was Jeff, and Bill Cipher was…Bill Cipher.

A squirrel ran across his path, the first creature in the forest in a long time that had dared to come so close to him. Or even willingly travelled anywhere in his direction. It was either extremely dumb or had a death wish. It took one look at the fuming boy and wisely kept running.

His teeth ground together. He was going to be having a long conversation with Mabel later. A very long conversation listing all the reasons why she should stay away from the blonde. Number one being that that was just wrong on oh so many levels. He calmed slightly at the thought of making a list. He liked making lists, and this one would be extra-long he was sure.

Only for that calmness to disappear completely as Bill leaned into Mabel and whispered something into her ear which caused the young adult to playfully bash the other in their shoulder, scandalously screeching “Will!” in between a fit of giggles. Dipper’s hands curled into fists, his body visibly shuddering in its attempts to keep the rage threatening to spew forth under control.

“Mabel,” he called, somehow managing to keep his voice even. “Why don’t you go ahead? I need to talk to **Will** for a minute.”

Mabel’s smile faded and for a moment she looked almost lost, but it soon returned in full force, brighter even than before and she happily bobbed her head in confirmation, skipping off ahead and leaving the two alone.

As soon as her form disappeared from view, Dipper closed the distance, grabbed Bill’s shoulder and slammed him against the nearest tree, happily noting the surprised ‘oof’ the man emitted as he suddenly found his back shoved against bark.

“Oho Pine Tree, so forward,” Bill purred, not looking even slightly perturbed. The force had caused a clump of hair to fall over one of his eyes and Dipper flushed, suddenly noticing how close he was to Bill’s face. He’d meant to come across as intimidating, but judging by the crooked smirk playing across Bill’s features he had failed, the demon was even enjoying it. “Shutup Bill.” Dipper snapped, still blushing. “And stay the fuck away from my sister.”

“Well I would, but Shooting Star just can’t seem to stay away from me, not that I can blame her. I am irresistible. And besides, you’re cute when you’re jealous.”

“Just stay away fro- hey wait! I’m not jealous!” he winced as his voice, unable to keep up with the sudden change in pitch, cracked.

“Didn’t your meatsack parents ever teach you not to lie?”

“I’m not jealous” Dipper repeated. “And if you try anything with Mabel I’ll personally exorcise you into oblivion.”

“Again with the exorcising.” Bill rolled his eyes, tone tired. He sounded almost bored. “Is that all you can come up with? It’s adorable, downright hilarious, but it’s getting old fast and I think you’re forgetting our little arrangement.”

Dipper screeched as his arm started to smoke. Actually smoke. The grey strands curled out from the ends of his sleeves. The lines of the tattoo were glowing, clearly visible even beneath the cover of the shirt. Sharp pain shot through his system and he quickly dropped his arm away, as the fabric directly over the lines smouldered then burnt away, leaving a perfectly formed triangle-shaped patch missing.

“Don’t think that you can control me, when I **own you.** Got it?” Bill hissed, blue eyes flashing red as he reached out, catching Dipper by the throat and lifting the boy off the ground so that their faces were almost level.

Dipper yelped. “Yes Bill! Yes! Fuck I’m sorry!” he whimpered.

“Who owns you?” Bill growled out, his grip tightening, fingers leaving beautiful indents in the creamy flesh.

“You do, Bill! You do!” Dipper choked out.

“That’s right Pine Tree. So don’t forget it.”

Bill released Dipper, and he landed on the ground roughly in a shaking heap of limbs, broken sobs wracking his body, fighting to keep his breaths even.

They were interrupted by a victorious whoop from Mabel. “HURRY UP BOYS!” her voice yelled, slightly distorted by the distance. “MABEL THE MAGNIFICIENT FOUND A MERMAID!”

Dread settled in Dipper’s stomach as he recalled the journal’s entry he had recently updated. He’d been so caught up in her flirting with Bill that he hadn’t given any thought to exactly where, or what, Mabel had been leading them to. Of course it had been a mermaid hunt. They were still the mythical monster monthly obsession.

Ohnoohnoohno. He blinked tears away and ignored the panic that was threatening to overwhelm him, refusing to embarrass himself in front of the being any further. He forced his body to its feet and sprinted away from Bill who simply cackled, the manic laughter echoing in his ears as he ran towards the voice, crashing desperately through the undergrowth in the hopes that he could reach her before she could be pulled into the water. He was not going to let his sister drown.

He slammed to a stop, worry flaring up at the sight he was greeted with. Mabel was stood facing him at the edges of a lake, her hands on her hips and her face illuminated by pride. Behind her back was a figure, though only their head and shoulders was visible, as they bobbed above the waves, the rest of their body hidden below the water’s surface.

The mer was fortunately female, which meant that Mabel only had to worry about being eaten. It was Dipper whose corpse would be forever preserved as a plaything. Dipper who would be drowned agonizingly slowly and painfully.

A curtain of purple fell over hooded emerald eyes, whilst her mouth twisted into a playful grin as the green orbs landed on him. She was beautiful in the sense that a spider was beautiful to a fly. The ear fins visible through the purple flicked back lazily.

Wait…ear fins?

Dipper looked at the form in front of him. “Mabel,” he stammered. “That’s not a mermaid.” The siren looked insulted. “Indeed I am not,” it hissed, affronted, lunging closer towards his twin, opening its mouth, and sucking in breath as if it were about to sing.

The first chord rang out and Dipper froze. The melody promised to be haunting and beautiful and he wanted to hear it. He’d do anything to hear it. It wrapped around his mind and coaxed him to approach. He found first one foot then the other taking him closer to the edge. He numbly registered that maybe that wasn’t a good idea, but continued moving forward anyway.

And then it suddenly cut off, as Mabel, taking one look at the siren, pulled back her first, screamed “LEFT HOOK!” And hit the creature squarely in its face, so hard even Stan would have been proud of his niece. Punching the paranormal apparently ran in the family.

The siren screeched in rage. “You bitch!” it howled, lunging closer, and Dipper watched, horrified, as his sister wrestled with the monster, managing to hold her own, even landing a few more blows, until one of its claws successfully connected with the side of her face and she flinched, freezing in place from the shock of the blow, and was pulled under.

One moment she was there. And the next she was gone. Just gone. Nothing left but the empty space where she had been standing and the ripples running across the lake’s surface that promised movement below its depths. Like he was going to let that happen. He didn’t know what he could do. This wasn’t an alcoholic human who he could tackle and keep pinned beneath him. This was a siren on its home turf. And it wasn't like he could stab it. He’d stupidly left the knife under his pillow for fear of Mabel discovering it.

He cursed himself for being so dumb.

He cursed Bill for being such an ass.

He cursed the universe for its apparent hatred of his wellbeing.

He dived into the lake.

Maybe he had the worst luck. Maybe the universe hated him. Or maybe the siren thought he looked tastier, because the instant he hit the water the siren abandoned Mabel who had sunk below him, her eyes snapped shut and body already looking worryingly unconscious and locked its arm around his ankle, shooting him a toothy grin that would rival even Bill’s, as it held him securely in place, preventing him from propelling himself to the surface.

Now he was under the water he could actually see it properly. The rumours that sirens were beautiful were wrong. Very, very wrong. _Hello brain, meet your nightmare fuel for the next month._

Where legs should have been was indeed a tail, but the scales were dull and rusted, and the appendage didn’t fit onto the creature’s torso, it was as if some kid had tried to fuse a Lego figure’s upper half with the lower half of a full-sized doll, and where the tail was grafted onto the skin, the blotchy flesh was raised and swollen angrily.

Where above the depths the face could have been mistaken for human or at the most fae, it was now unmistakably **not** ; the previous features had been twisted far beyond any recognition as the mask slipped, scales like those on its tail forming in uneven and random patches as the nose flattened away to form two narrow slits etched into the lower part of its face, whilst its pupils had settled into similarly narrow slits that blinked back at him slowly, hungrily as its mouth opened, showing wickedly sharp curved fangs that were far too close for comfort.

He struggled against it, knowing he had about a minute before his breath ran out, sentencing both him and his sister to death, but it ignored his frantic thrashes, dragging him further down in the opposite of the direction he wanted to go.

He had two options. And he hated both of them. But at least one of them would end with him and Mabel being alive.

_BILL BILL BILL BILL_

His mind frantically chanted, hoping it would be enough for the demon to hear. It wasn’t like he could reach Bill on speed-dial. He tried to ignore the happiness that bubbled up when almost immediately he received a response.

**_Well, isn’t someone in a spot trouble? Pissing off a siren? Bad move Pine Tree_ **

He ignored the flippant tone. Of course Bill would find his and Mabel’s drowning hilarious.

_Save Mabel_

**_Now why should I do that?_ **

He didn’t really have a response to that. Out of the goodness of his heart? Dipper doubted the demon had a heart. Even if he did possess the organ, he knew no goodness would exist within it. Bill had lost that centuries ago, if he’d had any to begin with. So instead he repeated his request, desperately clinging on to it in the hopes that somehow Bill might agree.

_Save Mabel save Mabel save Mabel save Mabel_

**_Ah ah_** the voice tsked, and Dipper could almost see Bill’s finger waggling in front of his face. **_What’s the magic word?_**

If he wasn’t underwater he was sure his face would be burning alight with shame, desperation and despair mixing with an unhealthy dose of self-loathing, as he begged. Actually begged.

_Please Bill please_

**_Sheesh, sacrificing your dignity. Aren’t you the selfless little saint? Fine, I’ll save Shooting Star, but in return I want to stay with you permanently, in that dump of a place you call home_ **

_Fine Bill. You can stay at the Shack. Just save Mabel_

_Please_ he hurriedly tacked on.

**_Well, when you ask like that how could I possibly refuse?_ **

Dipper’s eyes fluttered. His body felt sluggish. He couldn’t move his limbs. It was a strange sensation and he opened his mouth to laugh. The giggle died in his throat as salted water flooded in past his lips. He was dimly aware of the blackness encroaching on his vision and the fact that his heart beat had faded to a dull rhythm that now closely resembled a clock, its hands ticking down as it counted out the final seconds of his life.

And then the world was enveloped in cerulean flames as the siren in front of him burst into brilliant flames. And Dipper didn’t even feel bad. The worst part though? He wanted to smile as even under water the flames leapt up the siren’s tail, liquefying its scales and climbing higher, licking hungrily at the torso, stretching and expanding as they danced closer to the face that was now contorted in pure agony, the mouth that had come so close to ripping his own throat out now thrown open in a soundless shriek, the scream frozen before it could reach its lips by the amount of pain bombarding the monster’s system. The hands that had dragged him down were now frantically batting at the flames in a weak attempt to delay their path.

 ~~He was disgusted by the sight. It was abhorrent. Terrifying.~~ No.

He thought it was absolutely _beautiful_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things be going crazy. Heh. I think that chapter killed me. Somehow I always end up writing at 2am. Whoopsies. That's probably not healthy huh?
> 
> Well, yesterday I ended up passed out on my laptop during the day. I woke up 3 hours into the future with drool hanging out of my mouth and a whole bunch of gibberish typed into my documents. Tell no one!  
> And with that, I'm signing off for the day, going to go catch up on some much needed Zs. See all you lovelies Saturday  
> ~ MUI


	11. How to Con a Conman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper draws the literal line with his new, now official roommate, and the Shack crew witnesses the debut of Pre-Adult Wolfman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stares at the clock on laptop. Reads 2.30am
> 
> ...Well fuck
> 
> The more astute of you will notice that there has been a slight major title change. This is because I found the old one far too long and clunky, and this one has a much better fit for the story. Why? We~el you'll just have to stick around to find out, wontcha?

Dipper still did not fully know how exactly he had managed to end up where he had; shoved up against a wall in the Shack’s cramped sitting room, staring, and occasionally chipping in, as Bill Cipher attempted to con the best conman in the Pines genes pool.

The room had never been overly spacious, but with a Mabel passed out on the couch, a Stan slumped in his armchair and a Cipher standing centre-stage, added to his own form that was at that moment attempting to fuse with the wooden planks, it felt absolutely stuffed.

His mind hurt too much when he thought too hard about all the details, especially the fact that Bill Cipher was now running around as a _human_ , so he simply chalked it up to another brilliant Dipper Pines Screwup. God knows he seemed to be having an awful lot of those lately. As well as near-death situations. But he figured that those came with the demon that was currently trying to convince his great uncle that he had known Dipper for months (Even though Dipper had never once mentioned him before his unexpected visit), that he, after years of living in the forest, had suddenly and abruptly found himself without accommodation (Even though the seasoned local had never once seen him in the area) and that he was a sane, average human without extremely violent tendencies and anger management issues (Even though he so obviously was none of the above). Dipper guessed the only thing that was staying Stan’s suspicions and stopping him from grabbing the nearest shotgun – a Mossberg 500 pump hidden under the very seat his Grunkle was currently atop of – was Dipper’s own (forced) willingness to vouch for poor, lost William.

The conversation was a strange but comical one, and he often had to hide sudden outbursts of laughter behind coughs and smiles behind fists. Dipper almost lost it completely when Bill pulled the waterworks over losing his home in a fire. The only tears Bill would ever lose over a burning building would be tears of joy, and the sight of the person openly bawling over the loss of all his ‘cherished family heirlooms’ had him wheezing with the effort of keeping a fit of giggles from escaping.

Bill had a flair for the exceptionally dramatic, and every so often the demon threw in some colourful detail that even he, let alone a sceptic like his Grunkle, could barely believe.  With the flamboyant gestures and overacting, if taking over the world failed, he had no doubt Bill could quite easily end up on Broadway.

Stan had been suspicious to say the least when his great nephew turned up on the doorstep holding an unconscious great niece in his arms with a tall stranger towering over the pair, who with his unnervingly wide grin and almost predatory gaze fixed on the back of said great nephew’s head, just seemed a little… off.

All three looked as if they had been locked in a room with a rabid wolverine before falling into a lake and running through a tornado – knowing Dipper’s antics he could easily believe that was exactly what had happened. Gravity Falls’ forests were dangerous and the kid had a serious knack for finding trouble. It would not have been the first time Mabel or some other person had suffered for it. Nor did he doubt it would be the last. Except this time some poor stranger had been dragged into it too. The man had sighed softly, scratched restlessly at the stubble clinging to the bottom of his face and muttered that they had better all come in.

And so they had trudged inside, filing into the sitting room, Dipper carefully placing Mabel on the couch before running to grab towels and blankets, Bill, unexploded or un-disintegrated or the opposite of whatever the barrier was meant to do, safe due to (another) Dipper Pines Screwup, breezing past and striking up his position, ready to tell his tale of tragedy and woe.  

“…and then I found myself outside your lovely abode.” Bill forced his hands together in a hollow clap as he finally came to a finish. The sound was unexpected and Dipper found himself flinching slightly under its suddenness.

“So why is my great niece currently unconscious?” Stan’s voice was even but the threat remained clear. He would not hesitate to punch the stranger – homeless or not – if they had harmed his family.

Dipper coughed in reminder of his presence, his face reddening, and expression now sheepish. “That may have been my fault, Grunkle Stan. She got dragged into the lake by a siren and I jumped in after her. But we both would have drowned if Bill hadn’t been there. He saved us all.” He chose to exclude the fact that Bill had saved them by frying the siren’s brains. And tail. And entire rest of its body. The exact details weren’t important.

“So let me get this straight,” Stan massaged his temples as he assessed the now silenced figure in front of him. Despite their brief interaction, he could already tell silence would be a rare gift when around the newcomer. “You’ve lived in Gravity Falls all your life but never been seen because you’re a recluse, you first met my nephew when he was out for a walk and you saved him from a feral wolf and your house burnt down after you both pissed off a fire sprite?”

“Exactly!” Bill chirped. “Lady Luck never did like me.” He added sadly with a slight stammer, the act completed by a light sniffle and shudder of the shoulders.

Stan shifted in his seat, uncomfortable at the display. He had never been one good for showing attachment or care, and his comforting skills extended to nothing other than a hand slapped on the back and a gruff 'there there kiddo.' He did not want the kid to start bawling on him again, and a second emotional breakdown seemed to be an increasingly growing possibility. “Fine, you can stay.” _Just please don’t start wailing again._ He wasn’t even sure how a human could make such a sound. “But everyone under my roof works for me, so you start in the shop tomorrow. Dipper can show you what to do.” Stan rubbed his eyes, and punched a thumb in Dipper’s direction. “Oh and you’ll be rooming with him.”

“But Grunkle Stan-“ Dipper protested, eyes widening and any exhaustion quickly forgotten as his body quivered, rather abruptly ripped away from the wall in its jerked leap forwards.

“No buts. Your friend, your responsibility. Your problem.” Stan stood up, signalling the end of the conversation. There would be no further argument. No compromise. Dipper’s fate had been sealed.

The Grunkle lifted the stilled Mabel into his arms, her form remaining in its cocoon of blankets as he carried her out, his footsteps fading, then echoing above Dipper’s head as the stairs were ascended. The slam of a door reverberated lightly throughout the building, signalling to Dipper that he was indeed, now alone with the new house guest.

Dipper groaned as his eyes met Bill’s, seeing only one thing reflected in the shining cobalt orbs: Victory.

“I call top bunk,” Bill purred, somehow managing to simultaneously sound like a cat who had just been handed an enormous bowl of cream and a serial killer detailing to their next victim in exact terms the many pleasant ways in which they would be dissecting them. “Roomie.”

The word and its implications sent a chilling shiver up the back of his spine, and his skin prickled, the little hair he had on his arms rearing. Dipper had the sudden urge to bolt out of the room. How had he managed to screw his life up so majorly?

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Ok,” he held the marker in his hand, taking a moment to survey his handiwork. “This,” he gestured to the angry red line he had just pressed into the floorboards, “is my half of the room, and that,” he motioned haphazardly to the other side of the line, “is yours. You stay on your side of the room, I stay on mine.”

Bill’s mouth formed into a lazy smile as he drawled. “Will do.”

His agreement had not been expected, but it came as a pleasant surprise. So Bill was willing to compromise? Well, he wouldn’t be complaining about that. _Perhaps this won’t be so bad_ Dipper mused as he settled himself on his bed, appreciating the hardened lump of a mattress now more than ever as all the effort of the day suddenly hit him like a freight train. He had almost _**drowned.**_

His weight shifted until he found a position deemed comfortable enough. He stretched his legs, aware that he was splayed out like a starfish, and had the uneasy feeling of being a slab of salmon at a sushi bar. He was all too aware of his vulnerability, and the only thing that was preventing Bill from striding over and devouring him like said salmon slab was a red line childishly drawn in a red marker. Which is to say what was stopping Bill was fuck all. Another thing he tried to ignore, leaning back to allow his head to rest on his pillow.

He yelped as the object suddenly decided to disobey all laws of gravity and levitated, before flying a metre away and landing at Bill’s feet, exposing the blade that had been stowed beneath. Annoyed, he leapt back to his feet and stepped forward, reaching for it, but Bill clucked his tongue, tutting as if he were a schoolteacher admonishing Dipper for speaking out in class. “Ah ah ah, Pine Tree, that’s my side of the room.”

Dipper’s hand withdrew as if it had been scalded. ‘Won’t be so bad’? What had he been thinking?! He mustered up his best death glare and directed the force of his gaze towards the demon who simply giggled in response.

“I hate you.” He hissed angrily, stalking over to the bed and throwing himself back onto it, angrily slamming the knife onto the nearby cabinet.

“Aw Pine Tree! You do care! I knew it!” Bill cried joyfully, his features animated, a hand clutched over his heart in feigned awe. “I hate you too, you dork you!”

Dipper didn’t respond. He ignored the intruder,  ignored the jibe, adamantly holding his silence until Bill started to strip, first removing the borrowed hoodie, the fabric fluidly falling off his back as if were water, then shedding the lent shirt, fingers expertly unclasping the buttons from their imprisonments to reveal the tanned chest and bulging–

“Oh god! Bill!” he squeaked, throwing a hand up to shield his face. “You can’t just start u-un-undressing!” He stuttered, the words turning to mush on his tongue.

“God doesn’t exist Pine Tree.” Bill reprimanded, his shoulders sinking slightly as he sighed, disappointed in Dipper’s ignorance, then, voice peeling, added “All-knowing being, remember?” before Dipper could question the statement. “And I’m sleeping. Most meatsacks shed their clothes when they sleep.” His hand fell to the zip of his jeans and no, no No NO. Dipper did NOT need to see what came next.

He flipped onto his side, forcing himself to face the wall, eyes boring into the wood as he committed each grain and knot in the plank’s surface to memory, and inhaled deeply, trying not to focus on the very obvious sound of jeans dropping to the floor originating from behind him.

As he rested his head on his arm, the limb a somewhat lacklustre substitute for the object currently squashed under his roomie’s own head, he found himself wishing that Bill had just killed him. That would have been so much better than this. Whatever _this_ was.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After the disaster that was breakfast – Bill had decided to use the toaster. On a completely unrelated side note the machine was now out of commission. And would be permanently – Dipper had spent the morning impatiently teaching Bill how to operate the till. It had taken two hours but they had finally reached a point where the demon didn’t shriek earsplittingly loudly every time the till emitted a happy ting and released its hidden drawer stuffed full of slips of emerald. Bill had eyed the paper wads with disdain.

“It’s so flimsy,” he’d commented, tone laced with disgust as his fingers prodded one of the piles. “Why don’t you all just use gold?” It had taken an hour to explain that people couldn’t just carry around golden ingots in their pockets to every place they went because they were far too heavy and daylight muggings existed, but Bill had finally accepted the species’ stupidity and agreed to use the ‘clearly inferior currency’. And then a customer had approached the desk with the query of whether they should buy the panther or the puma t-shirt. It had taken a further hour to explain to Bill that you didn’t just yell out the time of death to every person you met. Especially when it was some time in the next month. The customer had eventually left, though it had been two free t-shirts and a heated phone call to their lawyer later.

Dipper was exhausted. And so when Stan had handed him an all too familiar costume he barely put up any resistance. Just grumbled under his breath as he slunk upstairs to put the damned thing on in privacy.

He slipped inside Mabel’s room on the way to his own, feeling a sharp sting of guilt as he rescued the bottle of concealer from the overflowing cosmetics bag shoved under her bed. Luckily his sister was busy giving a tour to the latest coach that had rolled up at the Shack, so he didn’t have to explain why he was going through her make up supply. Again.

The mark stung as he covered it. No, it more than stung. It burned, worse even than it had back in the forest. He held back an inhuman screech as the first globs of the liquid smeared over the lines, beginning to distort them from view. It felt like he was pouring vials of acid onto his arm, and he had to forcefully  glare at the clear skin to convince himself that it wasn’t bubbling and boiling as it burned away down to the bone.

He ignored the searing pain and continued, using up half the bottle, until the tattoo was completely hidden, the area looking just like normal flesh. A slightly darker tone of orange, but normal and untouched, flesh. Thank god his skin tone was an almost exact match with Mabel’s.

With that out of the way he picked up the pants, wincing as the material left his palms already red and irritated. A small pink blotch had formed in the middle of the area that had come into contact with the fur. He really, really didn’t want to do this, but Bill was downstairs unsupervised and he really, really, really didn’t want to return to find yet another customer traumatised for life. So he hurriedly pulled his shirt off, pulled the pants on and unsteadily clipped the ears into place, trying not to glance at the boy in the mirror as he brushed past it, but was unable to miss the glimpse of russet ears poking out of chocolate curls.

“I was right!” Bill crowed victoriously from where he stood on top of the desk, crown of his head almost bashed against the ceiling. Dipper’s eyes bugged. Why was Bill standing on top of the desk? “Absolutely adorable.” He leaned down and breathed the words into Dipper’s ear, fondling the fake ears as he did so, and Dipper spluttered as he shoved the head away, feeling a heavy blush spread across his face.

He kicked himself for flushing. Goddammit, this was _Bill_. This wasn’t some cute guy who may or may not be totally his type. That was off the subject, and this was Bill. Bill Cipher. _Bill Cipher. Dipper Pines snap out of it._ His mind screamed logic. He was a demon. Not a ~~hot~~ human. So why did he feel that sudden wave of heat and want to smile like an idiot whenever Bill called him adorable?

“Can I wolf whistle? Hey Pine Tree, get it? **_Wolf_** whistle? Because you’re dressed,” Bill hooted, slamming one hand into his stomach as he paused, body doubled over and perilously close to falling off the desk. If gravity didn't decide Dipper was dangerously close to just grabbing a leg and shoving him off the counter himself. “Like a wolf! HAH! I crack me up!”

"Shutup Bill."

“Say woof!” Bill cheered as he snapped a photo with the Polaroid camera he had snatched off one of the shelves. Somehow Dipper knew the price for that camera would be coming out of his wages. _His responsibility._ He fought back the scream that was rising in his throat. His hands curled into fists, enraged at the unfairness of it all. Why did he have to be responsible for a demon? Couldn’t he just be responsible for normal things like other people? Like paying taxes? Or in Stan’s case, avoiding paying taxes?

Dipper growled.

“Eh, close enough.”

More photos snapped, and a further two rolls of film effectively wasted, Bill pocketed the camera and it disappeared into the folds of the sweater Mabel had already given him; a hilariously coincidental yellow creation that had the image of a beaming, sunglasses-toting sun with the words 'Hottie' scrawled across its front. Dipper was positive he’d be seeing the taken images again. There was no question that they would be flashed in his face sometime in the future. Most likely when he least wanted to see them. Already, he was not looking forward to their reappearance.

“Now fetch!” Bill’s mouth twisted into an arrogant smirk as he raised his arm and hurled a wadded up receipt away. It sailed through the air and bounced off the far wall.

The impact of the events of the previous weeks had been slowly adding stress to an already anxiety-filled existence. Siren attacks. Two almost drownings. Wherewolves. Forced acts of murder. Committing animal sacrifice. If Dipper had thought the universe hated him before, he knew it loathed him now. It was inevitable. Dipper had reached breaking point. The rage consuming him, threatening to overflow, stilled temporarily. The tide of fury now unsure, stuttering as the boy acknowledged, then accepted it. Both reached an agreement. Both erupted.

He snapped.

“ **Fuck life. Fuck you and fuck me**.” Dipper snarled, thunderous, heated voice so loud that the closest customers milling around the desk shot him mixtures of curious and horrified glances. He roughly pushed his fingers deep into the confines of the coarse fur clinging to his legs, huffing as he stomped away, not fast enough to miss the far too chipper response of “Only if you ask nicely,” that fell on his quickly receding back.

“And this,” Mabel announced proudly as she motioned wildly behind her back to Dipper who now stood on a slightly raised podium in the middle of the velvet ropes that had roughly been arranged into the form of a lopsided square, arms crossed in clear annoyance and face set in a deep scowl, though with the tacked on tail and ears the desired effect was lost on the group. “Is the Pre-Adult Wolfman!” Tourists oohed and ahhed excitedly as dozens of flashes of lights exploded in his face, all of them crowding around and violently jostling the person beside them in their battle to get the best view of the reluctant attraction. “Who will now dance for your amusement!” Mabel added cheerily as more cameras popped, the onslaught of bright lights stinging his eyes.

Dipper sighed dejectedly as he began an awkward jig, forcing his limbs to move to an unspecified rhythm, bronzed coins already being flung and scattering on the stage at his feet, the cheers of the mass of strangers now deafening as they howled, baying louder, demanding for a further loss of his dignity. _This is so degrading._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♪ Sweet dreams are made of these  
> Who am I to disagree ♪
> 
> Well that was a fun one. You guys may be getting another chapter sometime soon that's off schedule cuz pretty soon I'm off on holiday (12 hour car journey there, 12 hour car journey back, yippee) and I'm not sure if I'll be able to update for that week. So look out for a surprise HINT HINT WINK WINK
> 
> Big things are coming and they'll be here soon, and my favourite chapters are yet to surface. YOU AIN'T SEEN NOTHING YET BWHAHAHAHA
> 
> I'll see you all you lovelies reeeeeeeeeal soon  
> ~ MUI


	12. Sweet Dreams Ain't Made of These

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dip says a further farewell to his sanity, Mabel says 'I don't' and Bill gets to spend some quality time watching his Pine Tree sleep. In a definitely not creepy, totally not creepy, way.
> 
> ...It's not creepy, okay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! TOTALLY NOT SCHEDULED OR PLANNED IN ANY WAY CHAPTER RELEASE!  
> Heads up though, gore warning level 6, leaning towards 7, on the scale. Some possibly disturbing stuff, so you have been warned. But with Bill's type of sweet dreams, well, that is to be expected. 
> 
> Sleep tight. And don't let the demonic-Dorito-turned-total-hottie bite.

Bill threw his head back and laughed. The sound that scratched against his throat and fell from his lips jarring and wrong. It wasn’t so much as normal laughter, but a demented howl, a series of splitting barks that promised the presence of something other than the form hunched over the table, something much darker, something that had said a farewell to sanity long ago. It ripped through the calm of the building and surely would have brought all inhabitants sprinting to the scene of the commotion. If they hadn’t all been knocked out like smashed light bulbs. A little dream demon magic here, a little dream demon magic there. Totally harmless, so no breaking the deal, but the Pines would be stuck in the land of sweet sleep till morning. Which gave him more than enough time to play house.

**_Oh this is too easy_**.

He had been expecting suspicion, distrust, even for a shotgun to be pressed against his nose and to be threatened to leave immediately. What he had received was a welcome – true, not overly warm, but a welcome nonetheless, and permanent access, no questions raised, to Pine Tree’s lovely boudoir. Even Star had accepted him, her materialistic infatuation an unexpected but happy, occurrence. One that he could use. He smiled, lips curling back over pink gums and flashing blinding white, a toothy grin that could possibly send a person spiralling out of sanity with just one look. He fondly stroked the friend nestled in the palm of his hand. His eye had stopped bleeding now, though the vision remained slightly dulled. He absentmindedly ran one finger across the surface of the pupil. It really had been too long. 

Love made people do crazy things. And he was the undisputed **king** of crazy. Everything was falling exactly into place. He snapped his fingers and vanished the metal eating instrument. He stretched, unfolding his body from its position to straighten then stand. If he was playing house, he supposed it was time to visit the happy family. He padded through the hallway, humming merrily.

Stanley Pines was first on his list. Old Fez had it coming a long time to him from a long time ago. Hiding the journals? Annoying but a crime that held a still survivable judgement. But bringing Sixer back? Hiding Pine Tree from him? Unforgivable. Then again he should also probably be thanking him. It was mainly because of Fez that Dipper had grown to distrust adults and seclude himself, so as not to be hurt when their lies were inevitably revealed.

He giggled.

_Stanley Pines found himself on the beach that had forever dogged his life. The crook had managed to outrun the government, the law, even his own parents. But the landscape he stood in now would always catch up. Always be there to remind him of his failures. His eyes swept over the swing set, one of the seats rusted but useable, the other’s chain completely snapped and totally beyond repair. He guessed it was some crummy word that was always overused by English literature students. A meta- matfor? Metaphor – yeah that._

_The hulking shape of the Stan o’ War was washed up against the shore, and he began to walk towards it, but each time he moved a metre the boat seemed to shift two, and soon he was running, running for an impossibly long time to not reach its hull. Yet the boat still evaded him. Teasingly just out of reach. Eventually his legs gave way, but he forced his body on, crawling forwards, despair taking root as once more his goal slipped and shifted away. “Sta…nf…ord….” he moaned, burying his face into the sand and wept._

He left the man to his tears.

Star was next. Oh he had something special for that little bitch. It was inexcusable how much Dipper thought of her, when he should always be thinking about **him.** Just Bill, no one else. Certainly not the stuck up little sister who had never outgrown her constantly indulged streak of self-importance.

Her room was absolutely disgusting. Clashing colours and explosions of glitter, and – was that a _pig_ on her stomach? His lip curled. That couldn’t possibly be hygienical.

_Mabel screeched excitedly as she practically sprinted down the aisle. Who would it be this time? Xander? Cray? Will? She ran past Waddles, her Best Pig, and the smiling faces of her friends and family, Ford and Stan beaming at her, faces lit with pride, Dipper with them, for once the smile across his lips genuine._

_She reached the end of the carpet and clocked the dimples and pudgy baby fat that had never grown out._

_“Why hello, sweet cheeks.”_

_“Aw hell no,” She planted her hands on the figure’s stomach and pushed away. “I most certainly **do not**.” She stomped on their foot and bolted away as all around her; the walls of the church heaved then fell, the building tearing apart and collapsing on top of everyone she had ever known._

2 down. 1 to go. He growled. Fords’ mind was still a no-go, what with that hunk of metal strapped over his noggin’. Fucking oracles. Thinking they knew everything just because of a few measly visions. They knew nothing. NOTHING. Compared to him.

But with Fez and Star down – and hopefully mentally scarred for at least the week – that just left…Bill breathed deeply, body quivering…Pine Tree. He didn’t bother walking, just bent the shape of the dimension and hopped into the room. Their room.

He placed a chaste kiss on the forehead of the slumbering form. **_Show me something beautiful Pine Tree._** The boy shifted slightly at the contact, and Bill smiled, hand carding through the russet curls as he slid himself between the covers and pulled Dipper’s head into his lap, marvelling at the pulse now thudding in time with his own. The form trembling beneath his fingers looked absolutely delicious, and Bill's tongue caressed the tops of his lips as lust bubbled. _Patience._

To his extreme annoyance Pine Tree’s skin remained covered. He had developed the irritating habit of continuing to wear clothes when he slept after Bill had moved in. He closed his eyes, barely able to contain his anticipation, and eagerly slipped inside the sleeping mind.

* * *

 

_Dipper had been expecting to find himself in the Mindscape. He was dreaming and so logic resolved that the Mindscape should be the place he stood. However this theory was completely offset when his darting eyes fell on a flash of purple. Which was strange because the Mindscape held no colour. It was a completely greyscale, barren wasteland. So if he wasn’t in the Mindscape, where exactly had he been dragged to?_

_It took a moment for the initial shock to settle, before he properly looked at his surroundings, recognising immediately where, or more accurately **when** he was. Their first Summer in Gravity Falls. A time for leisure, recreation and taking her easy... It was the day after the portal had opened. The day when the family had sat in the kitchen and faced the emotional aftermath of the previous day’s events. Everyone except Si-Ford. He’d already buggered off to god knew where to restart his research._

_There were some differences in the scene. One being that he had retained his age, towering over twelve-year old Mabel. Another that he was holding an axe, not unlike the lumberjack’s Wendy used to carry. He shivered. His mind wanted to drop the weapon. His hands apparently did not._

_It’s just a dream, Dipper._

****

**_WhY so sCarEd DiPpEr?_ **

_His limbs felt like lead, and his mind was numbing, thoughts muddled as they were hampered by some sort of tarry sludge that clung to their corners. He wanted to clap his hands over his ears or at the very least scream, but he was helpless, unable to do anything other than play along with the memory/dream, a reluctant marionette pulled by unseen puppet strings. He shivered, or would have, realising that other than mental awareness he held no control over his own body. The show was starting and he was both a participant and the audience, whether he wanted to be or not._

_“You could have killed us all!” The words spewed unwillingly out of his mouth, in the forced re-enactment of the conversation that he had tried his hardest to wipe from his memory. The axe felt like lead as its weight dragged his hand down._

_“Grunkle Stan wouldn’t have let that happen!” Mabel threw back, her tiny face bunched up in frustration._

_“He isn’t like that; he wouldn’t want to destroy the world!”_

_“You didn’t know that! We could have lost everything! The town could have been obliterated!”_

_“But it wasn’t! I saved everyone! I was **right!”**_

_“No! You were stupid! All the evidence pointed to-“_

_“Dipper, I-“_

_“No.” he hissed, rounding on Stanley who had now spoken up, his face haggard and back pressed deeply into a chair as if pressing hard enough would allow him to disappear into the furniture. His body was bent as he sat in between the two squabbling twins._

_“You don’t get a say in this. You liar.” He was seething, feeling that same rage that had fuelled the words all that time ago. Stan had **know** n about the journals. Stan had **known** about the supernatural. Stan had **known** about the Author. He had always known. And he had **lied**._

_“You trusted him,” Dipper jabbed a finger in Stan’s direction. “You trusted him, a man you had known for two months. A reputed conman, over me, who has always had your back. Always supported you. Always given up everything to blindly follow what you wanted. And you trusted him more than me?” Dipper was screaming now, his face wild, the words flying out of his mouth. Unstoppable even if he didn’t want them to be. The weight of the sludge on his mind deepened as its hold increased._

**_DoEs it hUrt DipPeR?_ **

_“You’re my brother. Why can’t you just accept that I was right Dip? Huh, bro bro? That Dipper Pines, the mystery solver, got one mystery wrong. Oh wait, it’s because you only have  your brain. If you’re not right, what are you? Nothing.”_

no no No NO NO. It’s just a dream. This was just a DREAM.

_He knew what was coming next. He struggled to hold them in, but he remained captive, helpless against the force that pressed down, drowning everything out, burning through his skull until he said them. The words that would lead to a month of silence between the siblings, broken only by the occasional forced greeting. That would split them apart for the next six years as they slowly drifted away and out of the other’s life._

****

**_WaNt to mAke it aLl go aWaY DippEr?_ **

_“No Mabes,” he spat the nickname with venom, “I am not your ‘bro bro’.I am not your ‘Dip’. I. Am. Not. Your. Brother. And you will never be my sister.”_

Not real. He chanted to himself mentally. Not real not real not real notrealnotreal

But god it felt real.

He could feel. He could touch. Was he dreaming? Was he awake? It didn’t feel like a dream. His mind slipped back into the embrace of the sludge. The hurt had been there. The hurt had always been there. It had never left. She hadn’t even apologised. Just kept repeating that she’d been right. He’d been wrong and she’d been right and that was all that mattered. Ignored the fact that she had betrayed Dipper, betrayed her own brother. And still yelled that she’d been right to.

_With an agonised shriek Mabel hurled herself towards his face and Stan’s hands leapt out as he tried to break the two apart. Back then he had been twelve, with noodle arms and no visible muscles. The man had grabbed him in a headlock and thrown Mabel over his shoulder and carried them out of the room. But here he was older. Taller. Stronger. Here he had an axe. And damn did he want to use it._

****

****

**_ThEy hUrt You._ **

**_…_ **

****

****

****

**_LiEd tO you_ **

**_.               ..     …   ……_ **

**_._ **

**_._ **

****

**_All tHis tiMe he knEw_ **

**_._**

**_._**

**_._**

**_WAs laUghINg behInd yoUr baCk_ **

**_._ **

**_._ **

**_._ **

**_She trUsteD hiM oVer_ **

**_._ **

**_._ **

**_. YOU_ **

****

_Shut…..up….._

****

****

****

****

**_PoOr liTtLE_ **

_Please……stop…._

**_._ **

**_._ **

**_._ **

**_DiPpER_ **

****

_p-p…pl-e…as….e….._

****

****

****

**_LoST littLE DiPper_ **

**_._**

**_._**

_n-n-n…..n-o….._

**_._**

**_._**

**_._**

**_PlaYED_ **

****

**_. ._ **

**_.._ **

**_._ **

**_By HIs oWN_ **

****

**_._ **

**_._ **

****

**_SELFiSH LiTTLE SIStER_ **

_Rage. He felt it. Pure. Unbridled. Fury._

_That boiled and bubbled and begged to be set free._

_Was he dreaming? Was this real? Why did he want it to be his reality?_

**_There’s a funny thing about insanity, Pine Tree. Maybe I’ll tell you one day._ **

**_He stared at hi_ ** _s sister; mind suddenly, beautifully, blissfully, clear. “I guess I’ll just have to wait to hear it then, huh Bill?”  Cold voice ringing out across the expanse between the two of them. The intruding, now identified voice merely chuckled darkly in response. **They’re waiting for you**_

_“I know.”_

**_Go wild kid._ **

_He gripped the axe, hefting it above his shoulders, freed from the strings that had forced his body to obey. Though he knew the puppet master was still happily enjoying the show. He looked at Mabel, his sister. Such a little bitch. “I gave up everything for you!” he roared, striding over to her. “EVERYTHING I EVER HAD FOR YOUR HAPPINESS AND WHAT DID YOU DO?”_

_Her little body shook as she watched him, her face filling with fear as the situation finally began to filter into her pathetic little mind. Mabel never had been the smart one. Never been the one to realise the danger. Not until she was already too late and he had to rescue her from whatever situation she’d stumbled into that day.“D-D-dipper?”_

_Stanley moved to block him, but he simply smashed the back of the handle into the conman’s face, and he went down, landing in a muddled, dazed heap. Something to be dealt with later._

_“What. Did. You. Do?” He continued his advancement._

**_Di_ ** _dn’ **t tr** ust m **e.** Li **ed to me.**_

_“Bro bro?” she began to back away, but his arm shot out, catching her wrist and holding it steadfast as she struggled, fat tears forming in the corners of her eyes and globs of mucus gathering under her nostrils._

_“That’s right, Mabel. It’s Dipper. Your lovely little brother.” She flinched at his tone and he shoved his face up against hers, puffing hot breaths over her shuddering lips. “So, dear sister.” He forced her to the floor, planting one foot over her stomach and pressing his weight down to prevent her from crawling away._

_“WHY. DIDN’T. YOU. TRUST. ME?”_

_Each word was punctuated with a downwards strike._

_Apparently bones were stronger than the logs Stanley had used to force him to chop because even with his older body’s strength it took 3 uneven swipes before the blade thudded into, then through, something that actually challenged its progression. His inexperience with the weapon which was noticeably heavier than the knife he had grown accustomed to, meant that the hits were clumsy, whilst his precision was thrown off by the white hot rage fuelling him; vision blackened at the edges as he fought to properly focus on the cause of that rage, the area around the shaking figure fuzzing, so that from time to time he missed completely, and ended up lodging it in the crick of her wrist rather than the initially targeted elbow. But he’d merely apologise, give the thing a rough tug to rescue it from its hold and continue._

_He had studied biology, of course, it being an unavoidable part of the school curriculum for three years, had even been one of the few who had attended the dissections held in the class. But those lumps in trays had been long dead and boring. This body in front of him was breathing and could actually hold his interest. He had no idea human bodies held so much blood. He giggled. Absolutely fascinating._

_“My bad,” he muttered at yet another miss. The face of the axe had severed the limb, but only partially, so now it dangled, held loosely together by a thread of shuddering vein and strip of tissue. It looked extremely painful and annoyingly unsymmetrical to the stump on the other side. Oh well, he’d soon rectify that mistake. One further swing and the image was indeed a perfect parallel. Problem sorted._

_He moved his fingers higher up the handle, flipping it so that the blade faced away from her, and rammed the wooden end into her mouth, driving it through the metallic cage over whitened caps and into the straightening canines which shattered under the pressure. Smashing it in repeatedly, until the insides of the hole were nothing but a mess of shards of enamel, broken gums and bent, buckled steel. What was left of her lips bled profusely._

_“So Mabes,” He withdrew the axe momentarily, treating her face to a cruel caress. She flinched under the contact. “How many times did you ask me to drop everything to run to your rescue? Who did you ask to deal with Gideon? Mermando? Gabe?” His fingers hardened, nails tearing through the skin, feeling it stretch and contort as her eyes crunched together at the agony inflicted. “How many times did your little tongue run as you wailed ‘Dipper come clean up my mess’?” He smiled, straightening. “So, so, many. Of course, when I asked? Nothing.” At the word he brought the axe down lightly, almost gently, lovingly even, and it sunk half-deep into her left shoulder. “Maybe I should make that little tongue run away,” He mused, arm snapping forward, a hand shooting into her mouth, fingers digging through the muck and wrapping around the appendage in question, forcing it out of her throat. “You’ll have to bear with me, still not very good at this part,” He shrugged. “But they do say practice makes perfect.” He grinned and swung the axe again, feeling the twitching slime in between his fingers spasm and jerk then still. “Cat got your tongue?” He whispered, lifting it to his face and narrowing his eyes, examining the thing for a moment. Disappointingly flimsy. Then throwing it away. Useless._

_She quivered, body falling into shock but pulse still beating. Well that wouldn’t do. He sunk the axe into her stomach and it landed somewhere in the middle of her ribcage, dislodging some of the bones. It didn’t matter exactly where. The flimsy flesh sputtered as her body swelled, gasping for air, then deflated, the many punctures and missing chunks taking their toll. It was as if someone had taken the jigsaw that had been Mabel Pines and torn away random pieces, leaving whatever of the puzzle remained gasping and bleeding out on the floor._

_He wasn’t sure when her heart finally stuttered out, just kept hacking, the blade sinking deeper with each blow, until eventually it ripped out the other side, slamming into the floor beneath with a dull **thunk** that resounded through the room, the only sounds succeeding it the heavy breathing emanating from Fez who was still pressed into the corner, blood streaming from the gash across his forehead, and the low gurgles from the corpse’s crushed windpipe. _

_It was a rather disappointing string of last words. No impact. No sudden bout of philosophy. Not even an accusation. Just incoherent babble that cut abruptly off as she finally croaked it. Like their speaker, there was nothing much interesting to be said about them. How dull._

_He advanced on Stan. Maybe it was the fact that he’d just butchered Mabel like a pig. Maybe it was her blood that had stained his hands, marring the flesh beneath. Or maybe it was the axe that he was slapping hollowly into his free hand, over and over as he approached. But the man just stood there, cowering as his eyes followed the weapon’s movement. Down. Up. Down. Up. Each completion of the cycle fluid and swift, down then up, then down again as the chain of action began anew. He heard the crunch of glasses beneath his feet. Stanley had never needed them. His sight was impeccable. Just another lie of the many he had shrouded himself in._

_Fez choked out one word. “Why?”_

_“Oh Grunkle Stan.” Dipper tutted. “Didn’t you know?” the cycle broke as the axe swung down, hitting something other than his hand to begin a new dance for its new partner. “Trust no one.”_

* * *

 

Dipper ran to the bathroom, hurriedly sank to his knees, threw the lid off the seat and retched into the bowl. His body heaving, his fingers trembled as they gripped the sides of the ring. He couldn’t wouldn’t didn’t want, to accept that he’d just killed his family. Dream or not. And at same point he’d actually started to enjoy it. ~~And he was happy. He laughed. He wished it hadn’t been a dream.~~

He retched again. His hands tore into his scalp. He curled up, planting his legs against his chest and moaned.

**He** had let it happen. **He** had held the axe. **He** had killed them.

His breath shuddered as the water continued to assault his skin. He’d been holding the fingers under for a solid ten minutes now, but even as he scraped the soap across so hard that the surfaces of the skin mottled and reddened, eventually staining the clear streams crimson, he knew it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough to stop him from seeing those hands dipped in his sister’s blood. And he laughed and forced the bar over again. Because he was right and it still wasn’t enough. And the laugh became giggles that broke and buckled his body, just as the blood on his hands was slowly bending and breaking his mind.

~~And he smiled.~~ And he sobbed.

~~Because she had deserved it.~~

~~They all had.~~

He was Dipper Pines, the boy who would do anything to keep his family safe.

~~He was Dipper Pines, the boy who had dismembered his own family for fun.~~

 

He ran into Mabel in the hallway on the way back to his room, her face pale and eyes drooping. Apparently her night had been equally as pleasant as his own.

“Bag check for Dipper’s eyes.” She called softly, and he smiled thinly, surprised at the interaction. The relationship between them had remained rocky after Bill’s arrival, and she was still purposefully avoiding him over meals, which made the attempt at conversation even more unexpected. “Bad dreams?”

“Uh yeah.” He nodded, bobbing his head briefly, feeling another wave of bile clawing its way up his throat.

“Same. What was yours? Bet mine was worse.”

_Oh, only me carving your twelve year old corpse up and using it and the rest of the family’s as num  nums for our new demonic lodger. But not before I had dismembered you and smashed a few bones in. You know, the usual?_

But he swallowed the answer, burying its harsh words beneath a flimsy humorous falsity. More bile rose as he lied through his teeth.

“Surprise puberty talk from Stan.”

“Hah! Mine was worse!” Mabel crowed in victory as she pushed her tongue out and his mind splintered further, reliving the image of it pressed into his hand. She lowered her voice and leaned towards him, whispering in hushed, serious tones. “I had to marry Gideon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you made it through huh? Well, colour me impressed. That means you didn't run off to the bathroom to retch or screech and throw your phone across the room in disgust, which is an achievement. Either that or you curled your lips and skipped a paragraph. Or two. Or three. That Bill Cipher (what a great guy) really is the best at his job. I mean marrying Gideon? Yuck. Truly, the stuff of nightmares.
> 
> Ah but what a week we have coming....  
> PLQG BRXU KHDG DQG JUDE D VKRYHO  
> And with that cryptic clu3 I'll see all you lovelies later  
> ~ MUI


	13. Only YOU Can Start Forest Fires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first attempt at demonic fire magic in a secluded forest after a five minute tutorial from Bill Cipher? What could possibly go wrong?
> 
>  
> 
> ...apparently quite a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which someone who hasn't done chemistry for a verrrrrrry long time struggles to explain magic through chemistry. Apologies for any mistakes made over the terms.
> 
> Also spot the Star Wars joke. Heh.

Mabel had run off to the mall after being picked up by Pacifica earlier that morning. If you’d told him six years ago that one day his sister would be picked up by Pacifica Northwest for a Girl’s Day Out, he would have laughed and then if the person continued to insist on their statement, rung an asylum. And yet the Northwest’s limo had slid up, body sleek in its ever pristine condition, with an equally pristine, sunglasses-free and disguise-less ‘Paz’ stepping out from velvet-clad doors, her lithe form enveloped by the hurtling blur of glitter and sparkles before the second high heel could kiss the dirt-crusted ground.

Times had changed. Exactly how he wasn’t sure, but Mabel had broken down the heiress’s barriers, managing one year to secure her phone number, and spending the rest of the months leading up to their return triumphantly face chatting and texting her former rival.

The next year, Paz had been waiting to greet the both of them at the bus stop with the Grunkles, her mouth set in a straight line due to the absence of under-floor heating and the gale currently battling to dislodge the perfectly set, ramrod straight bleach-blonde strands that hung over her shoulders, but a softened fondness glazing over her eyes when they met the female brunette’s.

He himself had never really forgiven her for their first Summer, never forgetting how she had initially treated him and his twin, but Paz was often over at the Shack and so he kept his opinions to himself, and if it came to it, made awkward small talk until Mabel whisked her away. She made his sister smile in a way that he never could, even before they had drifted apart. So he tolerated her. Even if only for Mabel’s sake.

He hadn't complained when Mabel ditched her shift, leaving him to take the tours, man the till and supervise Will to make sure he didn't have the sudden urge to grow proficient in knife throwing. Again. He guessed he had that coming. He'd been a shitty brother and karma was a bitch. He had been trying to avoid her, more than usual, after that dream.  
  
There had been more since; Bill seemed to view Dipper's mind as his own personal playground. Each night he was greeted by playbacks of arguments, reminders of pain, cuts that had soothed and faded over, only to be slashed open once more for the demon's pleasure. But none as worse. None where he had dismembered his entire family. Seeing them brought it all back, so he went increasingly out of his way not to.

So when Mabel sneaked away with Paz (screaming 'cya later suckers' at the top of her lungs, her head and shoulders pushed out of the limo's window, hand punching the air in celebration of freedom, leaving a trail of dust and kicked up leaves on the road as she sped away) he hadn't been annoyed. Had just been glad there was an excuse for them not to be together.

He’d managed to keep Bill upstairs until the two had left, though it had cost him the promise of spending the day with the demon doing whatever it wanted, no questions asked. He figured he’d probably gotten the short end of an already bad deal, but he wasn’t in any position to refuse. Mabel had already insisted that Will accompany her, and Dipper didn't like his chances of talking down  _two_  demon boy-crazed girls.

He wasn’t quite ready to set Will loose on the unsuspecting town, and definitely not loose in the town’s mall. Human Bill may be, but if the number of customers Dipper had been forced to rescue and pay off to prevent lawyers from being called, was any indication, his love of violence and disregard for everyone in the surrounding area’s safety had remained, whilst his fashion sense was eccentric to put it simply.

Around the family Bill had grown to wear Dipper’s own clothes almost obsessively. Half his wardrobe had already disappeared onto his roommate’s side of the line, and when questioned, Bill would simply parrot Dipper’s original rule back to him and retort that if they were on his side, they belonged to him. God, Dipper hated that rule. He would then reach for Dipper in an attempt to pull  _him_ over the line, most of the time succeeding, and place a kiss on his forehead, declaring that Dipper also applied to that rule. Really, really, hated that rule.

It was an action to Dipper’s chagrin, that he had taken to repeating even when not interrogated on the whereabouts of the latest runaway shirt.

The first time he had pulled the trick Dipper had been left stuttering, shell-shocked, his eyes bugging as he tried to comprehend what had just happened –  _what had just happened_? The second time he had turned as red as a lobster, according to the offender’s bemused statement.

The third had earned Bill a punch directed at the face. It hadn’t hit; Bill had simply stepped to the side and the fist whistled past his ear, harmless. But it had felt good to retaliate. Until once again, Bill’s lips were pressed into his flesh and when he was eventually allowed to pull away, the words ‘mine’ whispered once more into his ear. What was more worrying was that Dipper had to bite his tongue to prevent an agreement.

When not in the vicinity of the Shack, Bill’s penchant for overdressing continued. Dipper didn’t know where he had found the black leather dress shoes and equally black slacks, nor the obnoxiously golden yellow tailcoat, nor even the crisp button-up dress shirt tucked beneath the coat. They certainly hadn’t been part of his or Stan’s possessions.

But the demon had simply appeared in them one day before one of their fresh air strolls (read murder calls) and now wore them on each ‘extra-curricular outing’, a familiar top hat that even now stubbornly defied the laws of gravity and levitated above its owner's caramel mop, a cane similar to Stan’s own eight ball creation that Dipper knew he didn’t need to use to walk properly with, and a coal black bow tie in close accompaniment.

The flashy outfit hung off his form now, accentuating the wearer’s supple, cat-like figure as they practically skipped, one hand on the cane, effortlessly twirling it round like a baton, the other snaked around Dipper’s waist, keeping the boy uncomfortably close as he half steered, half dragged him, the tight fitting (Bill may have an obsession for his clothes but that didn’t mean they fitted) hoodie and plain t-shirt he had been wearing on the work shift earlier vanished. Another victim to the line rule.  Had Dipper mentioned how much he wished he had never come up with that rule?

The promise of anything done, no questions asked was how he’d ended up back in the forest, once again feeling unwelcomed and very much like an intruder as they ambled along, probably about to send another creature up to the Big demonic Steakhouse in the Sky.

He may have felt bad for the animals, but god knows it was better than killing a person. He’d killed three more since Hertz, and each time come away with injuries varying to different degrees of seriousness that he had to wave off to his family. The bullet hole through his shoulder had been the hardest to cover.

That had not been a fun night. Slumped on your bed with three towels pressed over the gaping gap to stem the fountain of blood spurting because  _of course_  the guy you’d been sent to kill was an experienced (trigger happy) hunter who’d managed to fire a decent hit off before you could jump him, one hand flicking through the medical books you’d stolen from Stan’s own collection as your own personal demons (in the literal sense) snickered and made passing comments like “Wow Pine Tree, never knew you were an angel, cuz you’re looking a little hole-y there.” Just a barrel of laughs.

Looking back, he probably should have felt bad when he’d taken the gun and shot it into the hunter’s own shoulder, before pressing it into their skull and squeezing the trigger. Should being the key word in that sentence.

Bill had told him it was a ‘nature walk’. Which meant that the nature they were seeing wouldn’t be walking away anytime soon.

It had been easy to slip out unnoticed. Stan was busy with running the Shack’s accounts – getting acquainted with the six-pack beneath his bed, and Ford still hadn’t surfaced. He hadn’t seen the researcher since the events with Bill had begun, and though part of him was annoyed with the lack of care displayed towards the family, a much larger part felt only relief.

The confrontation between the two would be inevitable, and he held no doubts that it would turn violent if Ford even slightly suspected Will’s link to Bill. Which was an almost given, since Will had turned out to be an insufferable, attrac- arrogant  _jerk_  who continued to display a lack of any basic understanding of appropriate human behaviour.

Dipper figured the Pitt Cola stains that had drenched his previously worn top would wash out. The state of the microwave would not be such an easy fix. Nor would it be an easy task to explain to Stan how the contraption had ended up in the sink (Will had wanted to see if the heavy weight would float). And so as resentment festered, for now he simply appreciated the calm.

They came to a stop and Dipper realised that he’d been led into the same clearing as he had been on that first night his sanity had begun to slip. He couldn’t argue that anything other than that was what was occurring – neither logic nor the copious amounts of paper pulsing with scrawled ink, contents scribbled then scratched into oblivion then scribbled once more, could save him from the conclusion that his mind was breaking. Perhaps had broken already.

What was left of Dipper Pines was a patchwork of cracks that splintered further with every passing day, held flimsily together only by his resolve to ensure his family’s safety, the final remnants of the fire that had once possessed his spirit, and Bill fucking Cipher.

Because the shitty triangle had made it clear that he wouldn’t be sending Dipper over that particular precipice. Yet.

No, he would just be content with driving him to the farthest edges of it and screeching "JUMP!" in his face.

He retained a somewhat adequate grasp of reality because of the whims of a demon. A demon who, by most definitions of the word,  _owned_ him. As if he were an object.

And it was becoming increasingly difficult for Dipper to challenge the notion that had formed in his head ever since he had been forced to spew the words in the forest. He belonged to Bill Cipher. The urge to submit and bend completely to the demon’s will was growing. Whatever Bill was doing, the whispers, the sludge, the fog, the dreams. They were working.

Bill’s shadow fell over his own as the demon unhooked his arm and breezed past him, sparks of electricity fizzing as their shoulders connected momentarily, before Bill’s presence was gone, the touch a memory, but one still fresh in his mind.

“Well?” Bill called back, with each step jauntily climbing higher into the air, spinning on his heels and facing him once more as he settled into an invisible armchair, now a metre above Dipper’s face, forcing him to tilt his head in order to see anything other than the swinging soles of the dress shoes. “Take a seat.”

Confusion flashed across his face at the words. Take a seat? Where? There were no chairs, not even a stump to balance on…

...Oh.                                                                                                                       

The tips of his ears reddened as Bill patted his lap, smirking. And realisation hit him like a bag of bricks to the face. Oh no.

“N-no way,” his voice shook, betraying embarrassment and proclaiming indignation, the emotions that he hoped could cover up the sharp tang of the fear that was squeezing his heart and leaving his form swaying as his legs remained undecided over whether or not they could continue to support his weight.

Fear that Bill would force his body and twist its strings, controlling it as he had the previous nights, ignoring his protests and coaxing the limbs until the boy obeyed him to jump up into the waiting arms like a common house cat. Like a- like a….pet.

“Nu-uh. You promised. Whatever I say, no questions asked.” Bill sang, and patted his lap again. Dipper flinched as he reflected on and regretted many of his life choices.

“Don’t make me say it again kid.” The voice turned darker, its underlying tone hinting at the sheer power the speaker possessed, power that had toppled nations and left empires in ruin. Power that had decimated the minds of those far greater than his own. Power Dipper had no desire to witness a demonstration of, as Bill’s motions paused, fingers steadying, resting just above his thighs. Message sent and received. Disobedience promised pain.

Dipper’s entire face flamed as he moved closer towards the floating demon, squeaking but not protesting as Bill’s hands reached around his waist and plucked him from the grass, bringing him against his chest, arms draping over his shoulders, hands meeting and locking in place just above his stomach, preventing even the slightest escape from the body now pressing deeply into his own.

Bill’s head rested on his shoulder, hot puffs of oxygen tickling the insides of his ear and causing his breath to sharply hitch. A low whine escaped his throat. He told himself it was caused by discomfort. He wished he could believe himself.

This was so much worse than animal sacrifice.

Bill chortled. “Oh I wouldn’t be so sure. It’s going to get so much better than that.”

“I highly doubt that.” Dipper snapped back, unable to stop the snark, and paused, breaths deepening as his pulse quickened, beats thunderous, echoing through his mind as he awaited retribution.

Bill inspected his nails innocently; if he sensed Dipper’s panic or discomfort at the closeness he ignored it. Or veiled his amusement. “So, you wouldn’t want to learn how to do magic?”

Magic. Dipper couldn’t hide the interest that came with the word. The concept had always intrigued him. The journals contained spells, but they were sparse and few between the pages, most of them unreadable. “Like pulling bunnies out of a hat?”

Bill scoffed. “Parlour tricks. I’m talking about the good stuff. The stuff you’re going to need when I liberate this dimension.”

“Oh god.” Dipper groaned. “You’re going to end the world. The Aztecs were right.”

Bill snorted and the spasm sent the front of his body slamming against Dipper’s back. “Those idiots? They were so dumb, couldn’t predict the Spaniards, let alone the apocalypse. Thought they had it all figured out, but they forgot to carry a one. Messed up their calculations by years.”

“You knew the Aztecs?” Dipper probably should have been surprised. But when you’ve seen half the stuff he had, well, suffice to say, not a lot could faze him.

“Extremely powerful immortal being, remember kid? Who do you think gave them the idea for their pyramids? And human sacrifice? That has my touch absolutely everywhere over it.” Dipper couldn’t argue about that. Bill did have a thing for sacrificial rituals. “They called me Quetzi- something. Horrible mouthful and far too formal if you ask me. But did they? Noooo. Just expected me to bless their harvests and cut down their enemies.” His tone turned petulant.

“But that’s getting off topic.” The fingers unclasped to flutter dismissively and Dipper found his eyes following the movement. “So whadya say Pine Tree, ever want to be a wizard?”

Dipper sighed. “Do I even have any choice?”

“No~Pe,” Bill chirped happily, smacking his lips and popping the P.

“Fine.” He dropped his head in defeat. “Teach me.”

“Perfect! Now, how much do you know about chemical reactions?”

Dipper struggled to cast his mind back to all the science classes. Most of them had just been a tired group of teens listening to an even more tired teacher intoning formulas monotone. “Chemical reactions are when two or more molecules collide, and the molecules change. But what has that got to do with magic?”

Bill nodded. “Correct. Magic is like a chemical reaction, you’re the first molecule.” A small sphere appeared in front of Dipper, suspended in the air, the glowing orb of energy shaded a bright azure.

“The caster acts as a reagent, whilst the second molecule-“A second sphere now joined the first, this one coloured a deep shade of red,

“-is formed then called upon. Just as you and I can travel in and out of realms and their levels, elements can travel too. It’s literally dragged from the Mindscape into this reality by the caster. Its shape that of the element you want to summon. When the two come into contact, boom.” Bill snapped his fingers. “Magic.”

The two spheres combined, glowing brightly as the colours mixed, before twisting into a mottled dark purple. “Though that’s a very, very basic breakdown. Other types of magic, ancient magiks like demon summonings are much harder to explain. They rely on chants or circles whatever the power levels of the caster.”

Dipper shifted in Bill’s grip, a light smile playing on his lips in understanding, the words clicking into place as realisation dawned. “So it’s science, not something like midichlorians?”

“Midi-whatians? No, and whatever that is, it sounds dumb.”

Dipper hummed his agreement. “Yeah, they are. But if magic is just chemical reactions, why isn’t everyone running around shooting lasers from their eyes?”

“Ok, so for demons and certain supernatural beings, magic is hardwired into our systems, our DNA is like a catalyst for the reaction, we’re all born with it running through our veins, and each of us can perform it, but only to a certain degree. Those of us higher ups don’t even need the chants or circles to force a reaction for the elemental stuff.” Bill preened, and Dipper didn’t have to turn and see the arrogant smirk to know it had stretched across his face.

“Higher ups? Do demons have a class system then?” Dipper questioned, curiosity winning over the fear of interrupting.

“Class system? Sure, you have the edibles and the extremely dangerous but tasty edibles. But let’s not talk politics; demon hierarchy is another lesson for another day.” Dipper nodded quickly, ignoring the curiosity that had killed the cat and was probably dangerously close to leaving him just as dead, to which he was sure no amount of satisfaction would bring him back from, and Bill continued.

“Most normal meatsacks don’t possess the capabilities required they wouldn’t be able to handle forcing a reaction; if they tried their pathetic little bodies would burn right up on the first syllable.” The purple orb shuddered then imploded. Dipper shivered.

“But every so often a fleshie is born that holds enough of those capabilities, it’s extremely rare, about once every century, but it does happen. Tends to be those from a long line of descendants, most of whom will have slight access to magic, enough to identify it but not enough to wield it.” Bill’s fingers began to trace shapes along Dipper’s skin. At first he thought they were random, 1 line, straight across in a horizontal swipe, then a second in a diagonal- oh. He was drawing a series of miniature triangles.

“Usually they’ll be marked in some way, the more noticeable and rarer the mark, the stronger the power. Extra digits like Sixer’s are common as dirt, like picking up a grain of sand on a beach. Something he didn’t take too well when he found out.” Dipper blinked as he processed the new information.

Ford had always demanded admiration from others through his six fingers, immediately announcing the condition to whomever he met. He could easily believe that the man wouldn’t have reacted well when told that his main source of glory was not as glorious as he had forced others to believe. He felt better about this development, perhaps better about it than he should have.

“But star signs?” Bill’s fingers moved up, brushing away his hair to caress his forehead, the action almost reverent. “That’s like finding one needle in sixty thousand square miles of nothing but haystacks. Last guy that had a whole constellation didn’t do so good. Thomas Farriner. Ended up incinerating his own insides. And that wasn’t even on his face.”

Dipper sucked in a deep breath. “You mean the fire of London was caused by magic?”

“Yep. Guy thought he was simply lighting a match. Ended up killing thousands.”

Dipper’s face paled. “Hey Bill, this is cool and all, but maybe we shouldn’t…”

“Nonsense Pine Tree.” Bill cut in. “Farriner didn’t have the guidance of an all-powerful, all knowing demon. At least one that didn’t want him to die. And I like you, so you’re not allowed to BBQ yourself yet. Besides, you’ve already shown a knack for it.”

So Bill didn’t want him to die? That was, unexpectedly…nice.  Dipper found himself relaxing into the arms that held him. “I’ve done two spells.”

“Yeah, letting yourself and two others into the Mindscape uninvited? That stuff usually takes a lesser demon years to master. And that stunt you pulled with the zombies? Normally only raises one or two minions. Not an entire fucking army. You were born for this kid. Don’t deny it.”

“Well…okay, if you’re sure.” He relented.  “What do I need to do?”

“Nothing much. At least not to begin with. We’ll start off small, test the boundaries. I don’t want you collapsing from magic over-use in front of your family. So today’s just going to be a simple, one word chant. Ain’t even gonna touch on the cantrips. Backwords pronunciations can get messy. You want to summon a man-eating tiger to devour your enemies? One slip up and you end up turning yourself into a tabby. This one’s easy. Just a tiny lick of flame on the tips of your fingers.”

“The same one that burned half of London down?”

“Don’t worry kid; I’ll be here to make sure that doesn’t happen. Just hold your palm out, focus on your hand, imagine they’re holding power, then pull that power towards you, and repeat ‘ignis’ over in your mind until you feel a connection – should feel just like a rubber band snapping back. When you’re ready say it once clearly, out loud.” Bill demonstrated, his arm around Dipper uncurling as it straightened, the fingers fluttering as their tips burst into tiny flames that danced along the nails.

Dipper mirrored the movement, stretching his own arm away from his face and forced his eyes to stare only at the open palm, imagining those same flames to be held across his opened fingers. He gasped as he  _felt_ the pull, and followed it, flinching as something that felt like 500 volts of electricity crackled and slammed into him. That was  _not_  a rubber band snapping back.

“ ** _Ignis._** ”

“Holy shit.” Bill breathed as Dipper’s hand **exploded**.

“BILL!” Dipper screeched, flailing his hands as more jets of fire shot out. If Bill hadn’t been holding him he would have fallen out of the sky. The flames spat and seemed to grow in size and power with his increasing panic, quickly turning from simple cyan sparks to an inferno that pulsed as if it were alive.

“Bill!" He screamed again, madly waving his limbs as yet more fire spurted out from the tips of his fingers, ceaselessly flying in every direction until everything around him was ablaze, his vision taken up entirely by the bursts of cerulean. "How the fuck do I turn this thing off?!”

“Same thing but replace ‘ignis’ with ‘aqua’.” The reply seemed hurried and the words lacked their usual casual flippancy. Was even Bill shaken?

_Ohfuckohfuckohfuc-_

“AQUA!” Dipper yelled, and the two were promptly enveloped in a tidal wave, jets of fire sputtering out.

The water slammed into both of them, drenching Bill but miraculously leaving his own skin bone dry, rushing past his face before vanishing, the only sign of it ever having been there the demon in a waterlogged suit that now resembled a drowned rat with a bizarre taste in clothing.

Bill let out a long, low whistle as he assessed the damage. “Well, I think Smoky the Bear is gonna be seriously pissed.”

“Wha-“ Dipper stuttered, regaining control of his limbs as he slowly recalled how to breathe, finally able to focus on the aftermath of the lesson. “Oh.”

The area around the two of them was charred, any greenery that had been growing in, he estimated roughly 100 metres, completely incinerated, the ground now boasting an eight-foot crater, the space that had filled it only moments before having been totally liquefied then evaporated.

Similarly, any trees that had been unlucky enough to be nearby had been reduced to blackened skeletons of their former selves. He had seen scenes like it before, on the news, when lightning had struck and started a blaze. Except that destruction had been caused over days, this had taken minutes. And even those hadn’t left  _fissures_ in the ground.

“I thought you said ti-ny flick of flame?" Dipper's voice climbed sharply in volume, rising to a shrill crescendo, voice crack returning with a vengeance. "That wasn’t ti-ny! That was molten fi-reballs! We could have burned to a crisp!”

Bill grinned from underneath still-dripping hair that was plastered to his face and had fallen over one eye. “Oh but you couldn’t have. Magic doesn’t harm its caster. And you’ll have to do a lot more to burn up a demon. Especially a demon like me.” Well that solved the mystery of why Dipper hadn’t been involuntarily cremated. “And wasn’t it cool?”

“Well, maybe a little.” Dipper conceded. He had to admit, shooting fireballs out of your hands  _was_  pretty cool. “But next time we practice in the Mindscape. And away from anything flammable.” He added as an afterthought. Magic practice near the Shack would not be happening for a very long time. 

“It’s a date.” Bill announced, upbeat chipper tone returning as he purred the word into Dipper’s ear.

Dipper blushed at the intimacy and tried to slow the goofy smile that was quickly spreading over his lips.

“And uh, hey Bill?” He swallowed, tongue like sandpaper on the roof of his mouth.

“Yes hot stuff?” He cringed as the blush reddened, choking as Bill began to nibble softly on his earlobe. Choking but not pulling away. Because it felt good. It felt right. And the urge to submit, to bow and give up returned, crashing down on him, but Dipper still had enough spirit left to resist. Bill may have his soul and his body, but he didn’t have his mind. He wouldn’t call him master. Not yet. Rejecting the sense of belonging, Dipper jerked his head away, resolution returning.

Of course Bill would flirt with him after he’d almost started a forest fire. Hell, this was probably the demon’s definition of romantic.

“Sorry about your eyebrows.” He muttered in a half meant apology. He really was sorry, whilst at the same time pleased that he at last managed to inflict some damage on his tormentor, who deserved it and so much more – the more part being preferable to come in the form of a complete wipe from existence. He figured that would just about put them even.

“My eyebrows?” Puzzled, if not slightly amused, the demon reached up to his face and with one finger traced the area where a thin line of hairs had once been. 

“Oh Pine Tree, you got me burning up here.” He giggled at the word play, chest thrumming with vibration, and Dipper couldn’t stop the bubble of his own laughter from joining in, until any words were forgotten, his mental state totally devolved as the two cackled like hyenas, their forms doubled-over, Bill’s hands clutching at Dipper’s sides as the braying continued.

He closed his eyes and tried to ignore how well his body fitted into Bill’s own, and the shockwaves that coursed through him from just the slightest touch of those fingers to his exposed flesh. Because he was not going there. He was not going to admit that despite the triangle’s known history of misdeeds and the present forcing-to-murder thing, despite all logic and his own mind’s protests that no, this was wrong, oh so wrong, whether it was the latest tack of manipulation or whether it was real…he possibly, maybe, might be, crushing hard on Bill Cipher.

Because the day that he admitted that would be the day he spring boarded off of his any remaining sanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woop, managed to finish this one before 1am. I think that's a new personal achievement. And yes, Bill is a manipulative fuck but we all love him. I would say I feel bad for Dipper, but well... I don't. 
> 
> Did you crack the code from the last notes? Cuz that's coming into play in the next chapter. Bill promised someone a six hour playdate and poor Dipper gets dragged along as the third wheel. What can you do in six hours? Why, lots of things....
> 
> See all you lovelies Thursday  
> ~ MUI


	14. Buried Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a familiar face loses their life, Dipper loses more of his mind and Bill loses his patience, because when's the best time to kiss? Why after the corpse is buried of course!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So slight warning, this chapter features premature and non-consentual burial
> 
>  
> 
> *Whispers in Dipper's ear* Accept the love...

Their relationship had changed ever since the magic lesson. He would turn a horrendous shade of fire engine red when complimented and had even come to anticipate the possessive kisses rained on his forehead. It was worrying. Extremely worrying.

The lists in Dipper’s room had switched from questioning his sanity to all the reasons why he should not be feeling the way he was towards his roommate. And as he had predicted, each was roughly 6 pages long. Which would have been perfect, had he been able to listen to their logic.

Whenever he was grabbed his heart rate would skyrocket, mind turning to mush, and all the points (one through to two hundred and eleven) he had painstakingly drilled into his mind the night before, One. He’s a triangle, a fucking triangle, Dipper Pines you do not have a crush on a fucking triangle, Two. He’s trying to destroy your entire dimension – get that through your head you idiot, Three. He’s probably planning the slow and painful death of your entire family, Four… would find themselves victim to a sudden bout of extremely specific amnesia.

It was getting increasingly difficult not to admit the very feelings he was so desperately trying to bury. And so over the next days, Dipper tried to distance himself from Bill.

An attempt made incredibly hard by the illuminotti’s apparent unwillingness to peel himself away from Dipper’s hip for two minutes, and the fact that his arm would literally catch fire whenever the demon deemed him too far away because ‘dogs should always be at their master’s heels’. Another happy function of the mark etched into his shoulder.

He figured the best way to describe it would be as some sort of shock collar, something to keep him in line while at the same time acting as a reminder of his status as owned, with Bill able to adjust the voltage produced; non-existent when he towed the line, knock you unconscious and on the floor for an hour when he screwed up.

He sourly nursed the now swollen and shakily bandaged limb with one hand.

After the fourth almost-blackout, Dipper tried to stop screwing up, but just in case, he’d swiped the bathroom’s first aid kit and smuggled it into his room, the box’s new home under his bed, adequately hidden behind a pile of dusty tomes if anyone (Mabel) came snooping.

The one good thing about having a demon around was that Dipper didn’t have to worry about dry cleaning. Bill would just vanish away all the stains of blood, a trick that he really had to learn for future uses. Apparently Bill was as reluctant for Dipper to be caught as Dipper was himself.  Which meant that his night-time activities easily fell under the radar of his one extremely protective, one extremely paranoid, Great Uncles.

He continued to believe this, that is, until Mabel poked her head around his door, not to check on Will’s wellbeing as she now usually did, because of course the guy could be in a potentially life threatening condition after Dipper’s bookcase had fallen on top of him, but to inform him of a family emergency meeting to be held in the next five minutes, to which all residents were expected to attend.

He gulped. Everyone to attend? The meeting could only be on one thing. Him. Well, more specifically his afterhours excursions.

And then he realised everyone included Great Uncle Ford. From the smirk and the demon’s sudden impatience to leave the room, as shown by the harsh rap of feet against wood and fingers playing in quick succession over thighs, he knew Bill must have come to the same realisation. He wondered how badly he could possibly screw up on the journey between his room and the kitchen.

Suddenly blacking out didn’t seem so bad an option.

“Stanley, who is this young man beside my great nephew?”

‘Beside’ was an understatement; Bill’s chair was rammed against Dipper’s own, and the demon sat at its edges, practically leaping into Dipper’s lap. Mabel’s chair was equally as close to Bill’s as Bill’s was to Dipper’s, so that all three appeared to be squished into one extremely short bench, rather than balanced atop their own singular seats.

In the dim lighting and freezing temperatures, Dipper was all too aware of how close Bill’s body was, but the presence of Ford was enough to distract the boy and prevent him from dissolving into a stuttering, blushing, mess.

From his attire, Ford was obviously not long out of his lab. A pair of goggles crowned his head, sitting above the greying locks, the lightened horizontal side streaks a ghostly silver, whilst his shoulders were hunched over where he sat awkwardly, hands hidden within the folds of an enormous grey lab coat that shared the unfortunate excessive amounts of pockets as all the man’s other outfits.

His face betrayed his reluctance at his forced presence, the way that his eyes constantly slid over to the hallway only making it further clear of his desire to be away from the rag-tag group the four of them formed; Mabel her usual glitter-covered fashion statement, Stan, with his mournful expression and ruffled suit, who looked then more than ever as if he were about to attend a funeral, Dipper bearing the last of the hoodies he had to his name, and Bill, his lithe form barely managed to have been pushed into one of Dipper’s stray flannel shirts that had last been spotted two days ago before disappearing, seemingly without a trace.

The only other point of interest seeming to be the appearance of the stranger currently smashing their body into Dipper’s. He barely glanced over at the nephew in question.

Dipper figured he’d destroyed that relationship when he’d turned down the offer of apprenticeship. Ford never took being turned down for anything well. Just another rift he’d managed to cleave between himself and his family. He glanced at the burnt patches littering the coat’s front and the tired creases sagging beneath Ford’s eyes. Yeah, he’d really missed out on something great there.

Stan cleared his throat, obviously noting his twin’s hurried glances in the direction of his lab.

“Ford this is William, Dipper’s friend who will be staying with us for the foreseeable future.”

Dipper had noticed before that Stan always made an effort to change his natural language whenever he was near his brother, almost as if he were ashamed Ford would judge and lecture him to open a dictionary sometime; from the way he had seen Ford correct Stan’s grammar, maybe he already had.

It was an unfortunate alteration, and one that left little to like about his second, previously unknown Grunkle who had quickly fallen from Dipper’s first impression of some monster fighting hero who frequently saved the world, to the more accurate representation of an obnoxious, arrogant prick who believed himself to be above all others.

“Please, do call me Will,” Bill purred, extending one hand, his eyes widening in mock surprise as Ford’s own emerged from the coat, gloved, but with the sixth digit in full view. “Whoa, extra finger? Awesome!” Ford’s face broke into a grin, his posture straightening as he realised the newcomer was yet to learn, or be impressed, by his condition.

“Yes, yes,” he muttered, now eagerly taking Bill’s hand, “The official term is polydactyl, I’ve had them ever since I was born,”

Dipper tried to resist sneering. Of course he would use the meeting to attempt to gain a follower. What had he been expecting, a normal conversation without the man jumping at the chance of hero worship? Not likely.

“Well it’s super cool!” Bill grinned, still grasping Ford’s hand. “Mind if I call you six-fingers? Sapling here will tell you that I’m not the best with names.”

It was true, since his arrival Bill had rarely referred to anyone by their actual name, though each nickname had been changed so that his identity as their most feared enemy remained hidden. ‘Pine Tree’ had reverted to ‘Sapling’, ‘Shooting Star’ simply to ‘Stars’, ‘Fez’ to ‘Grumps’ and now, apparently ‘Sixer’ to ‘Six-fingers’. Dipper couldn’t deny that his Grunkle’s reaction wasn’t hilarious.  

The smile drained from Ford’s face, leaving it with as much colour as the Mindscape as he struggled, close to hyperventilating whilst at the same time attempting to appear in control, hiding any weakness in front of his family. “Six-Fingers? Er, sure.” He muttered, sounding only half-present in the conversation. “That’s uh, a strong arm you got there, Will.” He wasn’t even suspicious, so confidant in his abilities to Bill-proof the Shack. Which had worked true, until Dipper invited the demon inside.

Bill ignored the hint, refusing to drop the now shuddering hand clenched in his own, smiling impishly as he threw his head back and loosed a bark of laughter. “Well yes, I suppose it is, but someone has to save these Pines twins from their many misadventures. You could hardly believe the type of trouble Sapling finds himself in.”

“It’s true Grunkle Ford!” Mabel piped up, throwing herself into the conversation. Dipper chose to remain silent. “I heard Will rescued Dipper from this huge wolf! And he saved us from a siren attack! If he wasn’t there I would have drowned and Dip would have been eaten!” Despite the subject, her tone remained as positive and cheery as it normally was. Only Mabel could sound so excited about narrowly missing out on becoming a fish’s dinner.

“Is that so?” Ford’s hand – the one not reluctantly pinned in place in the demon’s hold – scratched momentarily at his overly long sideburns, “Well then, I guess I owe you a thanks for keeping my family safe, Will.”

“No problem, six-fingers. I’d hate to see anything happen to their pretty little heads.” Bill’s own free hand snapped out, carding through Dipper’s hair before he gently tapped on the boy’s skull.

“Er…yes.” Ford muttered dumbly, still shaken from the nickname.

Stan cleared his throat again, and Bill finally allowed Ford’s hand to escape, finding sanctuary as it retreated back to one of the many unseen pockets, hurriedly disappearing before anything else could snatch at it.

“Well, that’s the introductions over, so we can finally get down to business. Have you kids seen anyone suspicious around here lately?”

“No Grunkle Stan,” Mabel chirped, her eyes flickering away from Will’s and over to her Grunkle, interest finally sparked by the subject change.

“No, Grunkle Stan,” Dipper echoed woodenly, his own eyes dulled and downcast, pointedly fixed straight ahead in their mission to ignore the form leaning deeper into his shoulder.

“Well, that’s something.” Stan muttered, though his figure remained stooped, the worry that remained clear in the crinkled lines etched across his forehead.

“Yes, that is a relief to hear, lately there seems to have been an increase in the influx of criminal activity in the area-“ Mabel’s interest fell to confusion as Ford fired a rapid sentence off, his superiority complex painfully present even in the current, somewhat limited, company.

“What Point-Dexter means,” Stan interrupted his brother, slamming a newspaper down onto the table, the wad turned to face the twins, the image of one of Dipper’s victims splashed across its front, blurred to obscure the damaged face and torso. “Is this town ain’t safe anymore. There’s a killer running round the place, and one not connected to the supernatural, so no running off after him, Dipper, looking at you kid. This guy is human, which means you leave it to the cops to catch them, clear?”

Biting back his annoyance at the childish treatment, Dipper forced a smile and a muted “Yes, Grunkle Stan” to pass his lips.

“No more going out late unexplained.” Stan continued, voice gaining momentum with each new word uttered. Dipper held back a groan. That new rule would make slipping away much more difficult. Even a trained ninja would have trouble escaping the Shack’s own built-in security system of moaning floorboards and creaky doors. That meant every night he’d have to risk a broken neck and climb out of the window. He wasn’t afraid of heights, but the feat was daunting to think about nonetheless.

“Mabel, no more evening trips with Pacifica. Dipper, I want you to make sure the shop is locked up properly at 7pm each day. And I want both of you carrying these at all times.” His Grunkle pulled out a bag that had lain hidden beneath the table at his feet, roughly depositing its contents onto the surface beside the paper.

Two hunting knives not unlike the one Dipper now regularly carried on his person, and two bottles of pepper spray made their entrance with an undignified clunk. The two men watched their niece and nephew, as if waiting for the objects to be claimed.

“It’s okay Grunkle Stan, I’ve already got one, Will lent me one of his that he managed to salvage.” They’d lied on their last late-night outing, saying that they were visiting Will’s house to see if any of his possessions could be saved. It had been a better excuse than the simple ‘going for a walk’, and also allowed for the explanation of the sudden appearance of the nacho’s possessions in Dipper’s room, namely the set of carving and hunting knives that seemed to be particularly favoured.

Stan nodded, a thin smile stretching over the previous worried frown, “Good to hear that you’re finally carrying something to defend yourself with kid. It’s about time.”

Even Ford voiced his approval through a low mutter.

As he’d predicted, Mabel was less enthused. “You owned hunting knives?” tone disapproving, she turned to Bill, shoulders slumped in disappointment and mouth curved in disapproval. It was a pleasant change from the adoration that normally crossed her features whenever Bill was around.

Point against Will. Mabel hated hunting. She hated hunters. She hated the thought of anyone killing a poor, defenceless animal for fun. It wouldn’t be enough to stop the infatuation his sister had developed, but it would make it easier for Dipper to convince her that Will wasn’t her future husband, brought to their door by destiny.

That, however, didn’t make dealing with the disappointed glance she shot him any less painful. He’d been carrying a knife around and hadn’t told her. She’d be cornering him later; he was sure, to yell at him for being irresponsible and keeping secrets, and probably chastise him on all the dangers of carrying a weapon, for all the reasons except the illegality of it – their family tended to ignore the question of illegal/legal, Stan arguing that anything was legal unless you got caught, in which case he’d be damned if he paid bail for anyone dumb enough to be nabbed by Blubs and Durland.

“Eh,” Will shrugged, “always gotta be prepared toots.”

“Mabel sweetie, Will’s right. Whatever’s out there is dangerous, you need to be properly prepared should the worst happen. And you do already carry around a grappling hook.” Sensing the faltering in his niece’s resolve, Stan pressed on. “And what if you run into the killer when Dipper isn’t around? This isn’t some fantasy adventure like it was when you were younger; this isn’t some magic monster you can beat with the power of friendship or some page from a journal. This is a messed up psycho who will want to kill you.” Mabel paled, and Stan ignored the mental assault of guilt, telling himself that the scare was for the sake of her safety. Fear would keep her alive.

“Well, okay,” Mabel murmured, pulling a knife off the table, holding it experimentally in her fingers, lip curling at its weight. Dipper watched the blade, finding the sudden urge to wrestle the weapon from her and plunge it through the hazel orb that had widened as she grasped the seriousness of the situation. It would be easy, just stick it in and pull it out, voila, eye on a knife, just like a little kebab.

Stan’s voice snapped him back to reality. “Dipper? You okay there kiddo?” His Grunkle was staring at him concernedly and was leaning forward, as if to tap him on the back. He shied away from the reaching arm.

“I’m…fine…” He choked out, “Just going to call it a night, been a long day, and all this talk about killers, it’s just got me kind of freaked out, you know…” he trailed off, practically throwing himself out of the chair, feet slapping loudly against the tile as he dashed out of the room, unsure whether what he was feeling was anger or fear. He heard movement behind him and knew Bill had followed.

“Great nephew?” He seethed, prowling across the floorboards, ignoring the line he had drawn completely, its existence totally forgotten as he paced, enraged. “Great nephew? My name is Dipper, Grunkle Ford. How hard is that to say? D-i-p-p-e-r. Dipper.”

Bill watched from where he sat, his mouth quirked upwards in a small smile, as the boy fumed. Pine Tree was finally starting to understand that family wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. And it was highly entertaining to watch.

But even more entertaining to encourage. “Oh don’t worry about it Dipper,” he soothed, barely able to contain his glee when the mere mention of the name caused the boy to falter, shudder and take a deep intake of breath. “Fordsy always was a stuck up bastard.”

“One sign of danger and Stan's treating me like I’m some snot-faced seven year old who doesn’t face danger every day. Lock up the shop before 7,  _Dipper_. Don’t run after murderers,  _Dipper_. Leave it to the grownups  _Dipper_. It’s infuriating.” He growled, slamming his hand angrily against the mirror, the impact eliciting a thunderous crack as the stilled pane fractured into a series of spider web-like cracks, leaving Dipper’s knuckles bloody, though he either paid no notice or chose to ignore the crimson newly marring the tops of the creamy flesh. “I hate them. I _hate them._ ”

“I told you, family’s overrated. So much expectation, but never any trust.” Bill simpered comfortingly, “Always thinking they know better.”

“Yeah. You were right Bill.” Dipper mumbled, his body drooping as rage gave way to sorrow.

Bill almost did a double take. Dipper was willingly admitting Bill was right? No, Dipper was speaking against his family? Pine Tree was further gone then he’d thought. He followed the fuming boy’s movements carefully through his lashes. Had the incompetent old man just pushed his nephew off a cliff and into Bill’s arms? If so maybe he owed the codger some small amount of gratitude. Maybe he’d kill him just a little bit quicker than he’d planned.

Hah, as if. Sixer’s death was going to be as painful and overdrawn as possible. He owed at least that to the man who had nearly ruined centuries of planning and all over an insignificant a matter as morality over genocide.

“I always am.” he purred, quickly recovering from his surprise; now wasn’t the time to stare as the boy finally, _finally_ cracked. Now was the time to act. “But don’t worry kid, your good pal Bill has something for you to do to get all that ugly anger out.”

He had Dipper’s attention, he knew from the way the boy’s eyes narrowed at the edges in concentration as they fixed on him, as if Bill were some puzzle he was attempting to solve but couldn’t quite grasp the answer to.

He just had to keep it before the boy could fall back into his ‘family is everything’ slump. Poor kid, he really would be better off without them. They were only holding him back. If Bill hadn’t come along, why Pine Tree may have forever been a packhorse to his sister and uncle’s whims. What a depressing existence to think about.

“What? Didn’t you hear Fez? I’m grounded.” Dipper bit out, and he threw himself onto his bed, sitting there with his legs pulled tightly up to his chest, expression stony as he glared sullenly at the wall. His gaze didn’t waver, not even when Bill eased himself onto the spot next to him and draped an arm over his shoulder, giving him a friendly pat as he pulled Dipper closer, pressing the kid’s head into his chest.

“I’m a magical, realm-hopping demon. You really think some eighty four year old who walks around in his boxers is going to stop me? Honestly, I’m almost insulted. Besides, someone promised me a date, and I think you and me are both ready to collect.”

“What are you ta-“ Dipper didn’t get to finish his sentence. He didn’t even get to complete the thought. Because suddenly Bill’s body started to visibly glow, the skin turning a sickening hue of yellow, something that he was barely able to register before the room around them disintegrated and his body was thrown unwillingly into a void.

* * *

 "Interdimensional travel. I’ll have to teach it to you sometime, extremely handy, but mortals don’t take the first time well.” Bill informed him proudly. 

“Gee, thanks for the warning.” Dipper ground out, clutching his stomach as he doubled over, trying his best not to discharge the day’s meals, regretting the second helping of pancakes from breakfast earlier.

“You managed to keep all your body parts inside. I’m impressed.”

“Hurray me.” Dipper growled sarcastically, though Bill paid no attention; he was too busy, fingers briefly reaching to adjust the top hat that had appeared above his head before dropping to the tailcoat’s lapels to pull loosely at the bow tie encircling his neck.

“Now c’mon kid, it may be fashionable to be late but I’ve waited years for this, and you of all people should know never to keep a demon waiting.”

Sighing, Dipper allowed Bill’s arm to slip into his own, and let himself be led through metal gates furnished in the style of last century casual goth, and down a tarmac driveway, barely bothering to take in the surroundings until the door slid open.

“Ladies first,” Bill grinned as he made to shove Dipper inside. Expecting the move, or one similar to it, Dipper planted his feet into the ground and pushed all his weight down into his heels, narrowly avoiding being propelled forward and falling flat on his face.

“Har har,” he hissed, “look at the geometric shape trying to be funny.”

“Please,” Bill preened, jutting his chin out in faux defiance, “I’m hilarious and you know it.”

“Let’s just kill this unlucky bastard and get home. I’m not in the mood for your games Bill.” Dipper grumbled tiredly.

Bill huffed but nodded, and waltzed past him. He was about to follow the demon when his eyes fell to the mat shoved onto the floor, stopping before they could follow the swirling, almost teasing, ‘V’ any further and confirm what he already knew.

He suddenly wanted to retract his previous statement. Sickness twisted at his gut, and it wasn’t because of the teleportation.

They had joked about it when they were younger, but Robbie really had made a deal with the devil. He sighed, biting at the bottom of his lip as his face pulled into a tight grimace. He owed Mabel five dollars.

Dipper tried not to think about what was coming next as Bill dragged him through room after room, hunting for the house’s sole occupant, the unease in his gut growing larger with each new scene’s portrayal of life; the unemptied dishes that sat on the table in the kitchen, the coat flung over one end of a settee in the living room, half-open books stashed on the tops of cabinets, shoes on the edges of stairs. A life he was going to watch end.

They eventually found him in the work office. It was late to be working, but he guessed late night shifts perfectly suited the profession the latest victim had found himself falling into. It hadn’t been willing, hardly anyone ended up staying in Gravity Falls out of choice. The ones that did were as crazy as their home place’s anomalies.

Robbie had declared himself to be above the town, promising that he and his band would one day be headlining the main stages in Portland. Six years on and he’d inherited the family business, living alone in the combination of house and funeral directors after his parents had moved out, finally making good on their plans to see the world.

The years had not been as kind to Robert Valentino as they had been to the Pines twins. He had remained whippet thin, a mess of greased black hair sticking awkwardly to his scalp, his eyes tiny and almost comical in their mismatch with the oversized nose that jutted out in its permanently broken, crooked appearance. He had long ceased to wear the black hoodie that had once hung from his form permanently, now opting instead for a plain black turtleneck that gripped his skin rigidly.

To his credit, or perhaps it was a sign of his stupidity, Robbie retained his composure even as Bill flung the office door wide open and swaggered inside, hauling the still reluctant Dipper with him, eyes holding a spark of interest before he emitted a low huff, shuffled his shoulders from their position against the back of the leather chair in which he lazed from behind a mahogany desk, and then even that interest was veiled, replaced by something akin to boredom as he crossed his arms over his chest and coolly regarded the intruders.

“What do you want, Cipher?” The casualness and familiarity in which Bill’s name was tossed confirmed Dipper’s suspicions. Robbie had indeed made a deal with the triangle, who had now come to collect whatever he was promised in return.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend, Stitches? And after everything I’d done for you in the past too. I’m hurt.” Bill mimed wiping away a fake tear, his fingers making the violent action somehow elegant. “See, Stitches, I’ve come to collect on that debt you owe me. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find backwards playing CDs, especially the kind with mind control? Of course you don’t. You probably don’t even remember what your side of our bargain was.”

Robbie remained silent, his eyes now warily on Bill, as if only now realising that maybe making a deal with a demon was a bad idea.

“Allow me to jog your memory.” Bill dropped Dipper’s arm, gifting him the freedom to press himself into the corner in an attempt to draw as little attention as possible from the pair, and snapped his heels as he approached the desk, leaning his body over the wood, one long arm supporting his weight as he smiled wolfishly down over the now cowering man. “You promised me a playdate.”

“A playdate?” Robbie echoed, confused tone tinged with worry as he was forced to look up, too afraid to break his gaze away from the one in front of him.

“That’s right, a playdate. A six hour playdate that I could take at any time. Well, Stitches, steady your pathetic little heart, cuz that time is now.” Bill plucked a flower – laughably a yellow dandelion – from the air, pausing to examine it, and handed it to the man who stared at it, puzzled.

“So why’s he here?” Robbie jabbed a finger in Dipper’s direction who in turn shivered, wishing to have remained unnoticed.

“Well that’s simple,” Bill’s fingers snapped, and Robbie dropped the now flaming flower, yelping. Bill's eyes flashing amber as he regarded Robbie, who was now cradling his blackened fingers, distastefully. “He’ll be the one stuffing you in the coffin.”

“You’re going to kill me?” Robbie’s voice rose in volume and pitch, no longer devoid of emotion as his face began to purple, eyes bugging as he sputtered. “I'm going to die over a fucking CD?!”

“Well firstly no, I'm not going to kill you, I'm going to sit here,” Bill gestured languidly to the desk, "and watch, and secondly, yes and no. You're going to die, but not yet. Not before Pine Tree here has stuffed that stick insect body of yours into a box and shoved it in a hole six feet deep."

"You're going to bury me alive!" Robbie shrieked, any composure he once had disappearing as he leapt from his chair.

“No,  _he’s_  going to bury you  **prematurely**.  _I’m_ going to watch. I thought we just went over this. Really,” Bill scolded, “Pay attention."

Dipper paled. “W-w-what! No way, I’m not doing that.”

“Nu-uh Pine Tree, no talking back to your master now. I’ve been awfully lenient, lucky for you but terribly out of character for me I know, and we wouldn’t want that changing, would we?” The flippant tone shifted to something much more dangerous as the words twisted themselves in Dipper’s mind, reminding him that **he had no choice**.

He whimpered as his shoulder began to itch, an unwelcome sign of the voltage about to be cranked up. He couldn’t pass out now, not in front of Robbie and risk cops, or worse, Stan, from being called. He also couldn’t completely ignore that part of him, the part that had wanted to shish kebab his sister’s eyeballs, was perfectly happy with doing this. Not to protect his family, or even to save his own skin, but because it was fun.

Robbie had been nothing but a jerk to him, and it was his own fault for making a deal with Bill. Everyone knew that making a deal with a demon, no matter how precise the wording or experienced the summoner, was about as safe as signing your own death warrant.

“Sorry man,” he sighed, stepping forward, with each step closer giving in further to the insanity which promised to blur the events and ease the morality of the situation. He’d learned quickly that it was better this way. Less guilt to bear.

“Why are you doing this?” Robbie stuttered.

Dipper gave him a sad smile. “We all have our secrets.”

Robbie tried to sprint, but Dipper moved to block the door, forcing the director’s sudden charge to a halt. “I’m going to fucking murder you Pines, you always were the weird one.” Robbie spat, fear shifting to anger as unable to escape, he turned to lashing out.

Maybe he should have realised that insulting your would-be murderer? Not the best idea. Dipper couldn’t lie, the connection of his fist with Robbie’s nose felt extremely satisfying.

Bill smiled, sensing the shift in Dipper’s mentality. “Go nuts kiddo,” he called from his position, now reclining lazily on the desk, “but no stabbing, I don’t want him bleeding out and spoiling the fun.”

Dipper had enough sense of himself left to mutter a sarcastic “Sure thing boss.” Before he left what remained of Dipper Pines behind and cracked his knuckles, humming in approval as the figure in front of him shuddered at the terror took hold of the limbs that twitched and jerked against their owner’s commands.

* * *

“You’re not going to help, are you?” He rubbed angrily at the beads of sweat adorning his brow as his gaze flicked from the deepening gash in the ground to the demon perched happily on top of a nearby tombstone, his legs swinging as they hit off the memorial.

“No~pe” Bill sang, grinning wildly as his left heel smashed over the cliche text of  _In loving memory_ , “You’re a fast learner, one of the reasons I like you kid.”

“You like me?” Dipper muttered, deadpanned. If Bill liked him he sure showed it in strange ways. “Doesn’t that just make me feel fan fucking tastic?” Dipper huffed as he dipped the end of the shovel into the earth once more.

“It should.” Bill hummed happily before breaking off, excitedly chirping, “Hey Pine Tree, did you know that the average human body is 66 litres?” Dipper pointedly ignored him, resuming his digging, but Bill continued, nonplussed. “And I’d say that box,” he rapped the coffin with one foot disdainfully. The lid immediately shuddered in reply, a muffled voice screaming a stream of words, their meaning unintelligible, though knowing the inhabitant’s grasp of the English language, it probably amounted to something along the lines of ‘fuck you’.

“Is about 886 litres, leaving 820 litres of air. So someone inside should survive for roughly six hours, although,” Bill mused, “I’d give this one five and a half.”  

“Not in the mood for the commentary, so shut up Cipher,” Dipper spat, his grip on the shovel's handle tightening, knuckles white against the mottled wood, annoyance at the day’s events finally coming to a head.

Robbie hadn’t pulled his punches and Dipper now boasted a broken lip and swollen left eye. So he hadn’t felt bad when he lifted the lid, forcing the boy’s skull to kiss the casket’s bottom to the symphony of Bill’s laughter, who had yelled out “Mind your head!” voice dripping with false concern as Dipper slammed the lid shut, its resident narrowly missing out on a concussion, before bursting into a series of cackles, staying true to his character and finding the situation absolutely hilarious.

He’d been feeling awful even before the impromptu boxing match, and dragging the coffin – he didn’t care how skinny Robbie was, the box was _heavy_ – from the house to the (thankfully onsite) graveyard hadn’t helped calm his mood. Neither had finding out he would be digging the grave.

For the past hour he had been been forced to listen to Robbie's protests voiced through angry thumps against the walls of his wooden prison, frequent enough that they left Dipper cursing his failure to tie the man up before depositing him roughly into the box, and endure any facts Bill deemed interesting enough to relay to him in his chipper, nasal voice. All while painstakingly slowly shovelling dirt, his only light the glowing silver orb that hung above his head in the sky, its soft beams smothering the area in a gentle glow that while likely causing a poet to fall into sonnet over its beauty, were not bright enough for him to see half the time, and so Dipper had lost track of the amount of times the end of the shovel had connected harshly with his foot. 

Apparently Bill wasn’t as accepting of Dipper’s snark as he usually was.

“ ** _Cipher?_** ” the demon hissed, smile vanishing, replaced by bristling fury as he leapt from his seat, striding towards the now trembling boy. “ ** _You will address your master with the proper respect, pet.”_**

Dipper realised he’d screwed up.

He screeched as his hands snapped up, the shovel thrown from their grasp, pinned above his head by the blue glowing chains that he barely had the chance to register as having just materialised, and then Bill was on him, his lips crushed against Dipper’s.

Dipper snapped his mouth shut, but Bill growled and pinched his fingers over Dipper’s nose, holding them there until the boy couldn’t breathe and opened his mouth out of instinct. As soon as the lips parted, Bill slid his tongue hungrily in; forcing his own past Dipper’s and began to press against the boy’s teeth searchingly, as if mapping out the area.

It was an unwanted intrusion and one that left him feeling sick. Dipper’s mind fell into chaos, part of him singing that this was right, wanting it to continue and the other screaming to get the fuck away. His arms hung above him uselessly, the chain biting into the flesh beneath, refusing to allow them the slightest movement.

His breath hitched as he felt a hand slide between his legs and shuddered, body going limp in submission. Bill smirked triumphantly as a low whine escaped Dipper’s throat when he finally pulled away, gracefully wiping saliva from the edges of his mouth.

“Such a good boy,” A hand patted his cheek condescendingly, and then Bill was swaggering away, the yellow of the coat fading into shadow, merrily whistling, leaving Dipper panting, his arms falling listlessly to his sides, chains gone, his mind in ruins as he slid slowly down next to the coffin that he was still to bury, his cheeks burning in shame, wondering if maybe he was better off inside the box of death than beside it.

* * *

Bill growled. He’d lost patience. He’d as good as had the kid, he’d had Dipper’s soul, body and was so close to that mind, so close to twisting him far enough, and he’d lost his fucking patience.

He hadn’t meant to kiss him. Pine Tree was meant to kiss _him._

He’d made a mistake. And he never made mistakes. Would the boy even come near him now? Would he have to change plans and just kidnap his sapling? Lock him in the Mindscape until his pet had forgotten these idiots and was completely loyal?

It was a tempting option, one very easy to carry out, he could even do it right now, just grab Dipper and slip away into the night. A tempting option, but one too risky. If the family ever found him, that loyalty would break. In order to work, Dipper had to come willingly.

So abduction wasn't an option. No, he quickly shifted through their mind, grinning at his findings. So his Pine Tree was really a secret little masochist? The worried frown twisted back to its usual toothy grin. _**How absolutely adorable.**_

Dipper stared at the ceiling, his eyes blown wide as he listened to the heavy breaths of the form on the floor, replaying the kiss, the feel of Bill’s lips smashed against his own, the scent of the demon as he pressed his body against his. How rather than protesting or pulling away, he had wanted  _more_.

He hadn't been in this state since the Wendy Situation. He blinked, looking down to see he had absentmindedly begun to chew on his shirt. Oh. Oh. Oh no.

Fuck.

Dipper groaned.

He needed to consult the love expert. He needed to talk to Mabel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Dippy is going loopy, he don't know who to trust anymore. You would think I would tire of mentally torturing him by now. You would think wrong.
> 
> Next chapter sees the official introduction of the new and improved Mabel Juice. Yes that's right people, it's taken us 14 chapters and nearly 50,000 words but now it's party time so get ready for some delicious smut to be coming your way, is it toasty in here or is that slow burn finally heating up? 
> 
> And with that delightful little tease, I shall see all you smut hungry lovely little monsters on Saturday. Why I just can't wait.  
> ~ MUI


	15. Dream Demons Don't do Shar-ring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill doesn't take kindly to someone putting their hands on his property and decides to remind his pet just who their master is, once and for all.
> 
> Also known as the obligatory party chapter where Dipper gets hammered and Bill is the psychotic possessive ass that he always is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you see the tags added? Yes? Then I suppose you're ready for what comes next...
> 
> Warning: Non-con

“Ermygosh ermygosh ermygosh you like Will!”

Dipper reddened as Mabel squealed, her body slamming into his own as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug before he had the chance to reply. He allowed the moment, briefly enjoying the solace of her hold, basking in the warmth that flowed through him, as he closed his eyes, able to pretend that there were younger, happier.

Before reality came calling and he snapped back as if he’d been stung, shaking his head violently in response. “What?!” He exclaimed, angrily pushing her away. “No! I don’t.”

He’d managed to slip out of his room, luckily without waking Bill, who had proven he could likely sleep through a hurricane if he was in the mood to, and had ran into Mabel who was also, thankfully alone, taking her to the side and swearing her to secrecy before the start of the conversation. They were pressed against the narrow hallway now, Mabel’s eyes barely illuminated by the dingy light filtering through the cracked pane of the hall's lone window, her body shaking in its struggle to contain her excitement, and Dipper's slumped morosely, wishing to fade into the shadows that curled around their feet.

“Bro,” Mabel grinned. “You can’t lie to the love expert. You’re totally in love, just admit it you dork.” She spoke excitedly, eyes shining, the words accompanied by a light punch on the shoulder, that should have been playful but left his body reeling and he squared his shoulders, instinct and experience teaching him contact led to attack.

He caught himself and dropped his stance. This was Mabel. His sister. Not some guy who would sock him in the face to defend their life.

“I do not!” His voice rose as he protested, defensively throwing his hands up before they fell back to his sides to fiddle restlessly with the edges of his shirt, the protest dropping to a low mumble as his eyes slid away from his sister’s to the floor. He awkwardly shuffled his shoulders. “But…hypothetically, if someone did like him, what should they do?”

The smile running across Mabel’s face widened “Well, I’d say  _someone_ ” His face flushed at the air quotes, _“_ shouldn’t worry, given the guy can barely keep his hands off of you. Like to an almost creepy degree.”  _Almost? ALMOST?_ He  _almost_ screamed. Of course it was creepy! Bill either didn’t know the definition of personal space or thoroughly enjoyed invading Dipper’s. And the guy (demon) followed him everywhere. Anyone but Mabel would be dragging Bill to court to get a restraining order and tracking bracelet. But Mabel, his love-obsessed sister, thought it was romantic.

“Just don’t write a list.” She added, tone turning serious as she balanced one hand precariously atop her hips and directed the other towards him. “You can’t solve this one with logic.”

“I haven’t written a list!” Dipper squawked in protest, making a mental note to burn the pile of What to Do About Will lists later, when Mabel wasn’t around to interrupt.

“You so totally have. Lists are your solution to everything.” She pulled a face, features twisting into an exaggerated grimace before the beaming smile returned. “Have you kissed yet? I bet you haven’t.” Dipper remained silent, his eyes fixing on a point on the wall and regarding it with sudden, avid interest.   

“You kissed him and you didn’t tell me?!” Mabel’s voice shifted to an almost inhuman screech, and Dipper was forced to break his silence to angrily shush her, hands and mouth working furiously to convey the need for silence, before she could wake the subject of the conversation. The last thing he needed was a dream demon he might possibly have a crush on knowing about said crush. Bill would never let him live this down.

And he was not ready for that conversation. Mabel may already be on Step 2, but Dipper was still stuck on step 1, wondering why the fuck the universe had a personal vendetta against his happiness, and how the fuck he had fallen for Bill Cipher, a guy (demon) who had tried to kill him on multiple occasions. When he was twelve. And there was the, you know, entire murder-people-for-me thing. He guessed all those quotes and phrases teen girls doodled into their notebooks in an effort to look artsy and philosophical really were true – love was crazy. And crazy had kissed him. On the lips.

“He kissed me,” Dipper muttered, blushing as he voiced the words that had been going round and round in his head for the past twelve hours. Bill had kissed him. Bill had kissed him. Bill Cipher had fucking shoved his tongue down his throat while he was in the process of murdering a man. And dear god some part of Dipper had liked,  _enjoyed_ it. A part he could no longer ignore.

“Tell me everything!” Mabel ordered loudly, tugging roughly on his arm. “What was it like?”

“I don’t know,” Dipper mumbled, tapping his foot nervously. “Wet?” He offered and she glared, eyes narrowing. “Well, how did it feel?” She pressed eagerly.

He thought for a moment. It hadn’t been his first kiss. No, that honour had gone to some girl Mabel had attempted to set him up with. It had been quick – just a light peck, but that had been awkward and stunk of booze. It hadn’t been fiery. He hadn’t wanted more afterwards. It hadn’t set all logical thought ablaze. Although he remained unsure if that last one was a positive.

“Strange, and wrong,” He slowly scratched an invisible itch on his scalp, “but kind of right?”

She nodded her head in affirmation. “It’s love. Ermygod I ship you guys so hard. I’m so totally calling you two WillDip. You better make me the bridesmaid at your wedding. And you're letting me design your tux. It's gonna be baby blue with sparkles everywhere, ”

Dipper groaned, then cut in before Mabel could begin to outline just how many sparkles his future wedding tux would have along its collar. “That sounds stupid and it’s not going to catch on.”

“We’ll see dear brother,” Mabel winked, “We’ll see.” She paused, shooting him a conspiratory glance as she thumped her chest proudly. “Don’t worry Dippin Dots, Matchmaker Mabel has got this.”

“Got what Stars?”

Dipper groaned as Bill’s body slid gracefully out from behind Dipper’s door, chest exposed to the elements, lower parts of his waist thankfully covered by skinny denim. For once his hair was almost as wild and unkempt as Dipper’s. “Good morning to you too, Sapling.” Bill purred as he slid an arm possessively around Dipper’s waist and pulled him in for their daily greeting – a chaste kiss on his forehead.

He shivered at the contact, skin where Bill’s lips had brushed electric. He saw Mabel pull out a camera – where did she even keep those, he was pretty sure her sweater didn’t have pockets? And stiffened, attempting, but unable, to escape the strong, unyielding arms that anchored him in place. “Mabel no!” He screamed desperately but pointlessly.

“MABEL YES!” She whooped as the camera popped, flash exploding in his eyes and he blinked the whites away, when his vision cleared finding his sister triumphantly waving the latest addition to her photo collection, the image forever chronicling Dipper’s moment of shame. “Scrapbookatunity.” She stage-whispered, grinning as she skipped away, her form disappearing down the stairs before he had the chance to pursue.

“Smooth.” Bill commented as Dipper growled, rubbing angrily at his face.

“C’mon boys” Mabel’s chipper voice floated up from downstairs. “We’ve got a party to plan.”

* * *

 Mabel’s parties were famous. With their hard-hitting booze and anything-can-happen attitude, they were pretty much a mirror image of their host: hyper, crazy and far too full of glitter. Stan had tried to ban them on more than one occasion, but to Dipper’s grief his sister always seemed to get her way with the slightest persuasion. She had perfected the puppy eyes tactic and had been using it to deadly effect since they’d hit fourteen. Unsurprisingly, the Grunkle eventually caved to her whim and gave the evening the go-ahead.

Which was why Dipper was now balanced awkwardly on the wall beside a table laden with bottles, his usual attire forgone for a scratchy suit that Mabel had forced him into earlier, loud obnoxious music pounding into his ears and flashing lights burning themselves into his retinas as he glared sullenly at the group he’d been forced against his will and to his many loud protests, into socialising with.

Despite being the host’s brother, most people stayed clear of him, perhaps sensing his reluctance to be there – the death scowl across his face was a pretty good sign pf that; Mabel may have perfected puppy eyes but Dipper had spent his childhood practising and by now he had pretty much mastered the fuck off face, and so he was disturbed only by the occasional reveller who had stumbled drunkenly over in search of a refill and who fled equally as quickly and unsteadily as they had come.

He pulled at the outfit, hand hovering over the tie, struck by the urge to tear it from his throat. He wondered if he could think up a good enough excuse to explain its disappearance. The scowl marring his face deepened, unpleasant and  _unwanted_ memories of Bipper resurfacing, for various reasons. One particular reason had disappeared into a swamp of girls, most of who would hopefully still be alive with their souls intact and only minorly maimed by the end of the night.

Bill had arguably dressed down for the occasion – abandoning the tailcoat in favour of a simple black shirt, its sleeves rolled casually up to his elbows to reveal perfectly toned, tan muscle, a matching ribbon hanging in a loose bow from his neck, and yet he had still caused the female population of the party to practically stampede in their hurry to strike up a conversation with the mysterious, never before seen blonde. He had disappeared from Dipper’s side an hour ago; carried away by the mass that had practically salivated over his dress shoes.

Dipper wasn’t sure what Mabel was planning, but anything that involved Bill over one metre away from him was welcomed with open arms. He could even forgive her for the costume change. For the first time in a long time, he finally had some privacy. Remove the people and the beats currently assaulting his eardrums and who knows, he might even be happy.

“You know it’s a party right?” He looked up at the speaker, finding that they were one of the rare few of the female species who weren’t currently mobbing the resident demon. He was met by a glimpse of auburn waves framing an oval face, the skin tinted orange in the neon lights exploding overhead.

“I was aware,” Dipper replied coolly, attempting to smooth his face back into its previous mask of contempt, curiosity fighting his dislike of people as he wondered why the hell the girl was still standing there. Or talking to him. The plastic cup balanced between manicured fingers was full, so it was obvious she wasn’t there for a refill.

“Why are you here?” he blurted out bluntly, annoyance buzzing – mostly at himself for continuing the conversation, but some directed at the girl who had initiated it.

“To drown my sorrows at the condition of the world after I realised how pointless my existence was.” She smiled, flashing pearls briefly, as she caught his surprised gaze, and laughed lightly. “Nah, not really. Your sister said I should talk to you. Told me you had a problem and that you’d probably need a drink.” She paused, eyes flicking over his body then narrowing, as if she’d analysed him and not liked the results. He stiffened, disliking the change in expression. “No offence, but she was right.” 

He looked over to see Mabel, ever the social butterfly, pressed between two unidentified guys, her head thrown back in roaring laughter, a glass of what was definitely Mabel Juice (what other alcoholic beverage is bright pink and had actual sparkles floating round in its depths?) clutched in her hand. As if sensing his stare she turned, flashed him a smile and flipped her fingers in a quick thumbs up, mouthing something that seemed suspiciously along the lines of  _just go with it_ , then returned to her companion’s conversation.

“Sorry about my sister,” he mumbled genuinely. “She tends to do things like that. You’re not the first, and you don’t have to go along with it.” He ran a hand through his hair awkwardly, waiting for the girl to disappear, but she remained. He’d meant the apology. Mabel always managed to drag strangers into doing the things she wanted. Dipper was used to apologising for it.

“It’s okay, I’ve always wanted to play bartender.” She winked, throwing her hand in front of his chest. “Name’s Rachel.”

He took the hand and they shook. “Dipper.” She didn't inquire about the name. Didn't even comment on its weirdness, which was, he grudgingly admitted, a pleasant change.

“So Dipper,” Rachel slipped round to the other side of the table, miming wiping the surface down before settling to lean on her elbows, regarding him as she fluttered her lashes playfully. “What’s your problem and what do you want to drink?" She gestured towards the bottles. "Cider?”

Dipper allowed a forced grin, thinking  _what the hell, why not?_  As he slid off the wall, stuffing his hands into his pockets and held the gaze of the would-be bartender. He relaxed, taking up a new position, leaning against the table's edge. “Hah. Apparently I’m in love with the demon that’s going to destroy our world and is probably planning to kill me and everyone I know, hit me with whatever you’ve got, and make it strong.”

“Damn dude,” Rachel grunted, running her fingers over the tops of bottles, squinting before seeming to come to a decision, popping the lid and expertly tipping tequila into a shot glass, handing it over, her eyebrow riding up. “And here I thought I had problems.”

“Sometimes I think life hates me,” Dipper groaned, tipping the glass back and downing it in one go.

Rachel snorted then placed another glass onto the table in front of him. She leaned over, lifting a new bottle and tipped the mystery contents into the cup, motioning for him to take it. “Life always hates the hot guys; it’s what brings balance to the universe.”

“Okay, that makes me feel ever so slightly better.” Dipper confessed, smiling. He paused before grabbing the second glass. “You think I’m hot?”

“Are those muscles just for show? Dude, you look like a Greek god. And I’ve always been into mythology.” She wiggled her brow and pouted suggestively and he groaned loudly.

“That’s one of the worst pickup lines I’ve ever heard,” he retorted, raising the glass to his lips and pouring its contents down his throat, gagging slightly as it burnt its way down, sending him into a coughing, spluttering fit.

Rachel let out a peal of laughter at the show of his inexperience then shrugged. “Can’t be any worse than the ones I’ve had thrown in my face.” She scowled, then brightened, pulling her body closer to his. “So, is it working?”

“Can’t say it is.” Dipper answered truthfully, shaking his head. The action sent a wave of protest through his body and he swayed unsteadily on his feet. “Though I think he’d probably kill you either way.”

“This guy sounds messed up.”

“Yeah, he’s a bastard.” Dipper rubbed his temples angrily, feeling the beginnings of a headache as the thumping beat originating from the speakers increased in volume. He raised another glass - his second or third? His head hurt when he thought too hard so he ignored it, guessing this was the second. That sounded about right. “I should hate him, but-”

“-But you don’t. Yeah, I’ve been there. Girl meets guy, falls in love, doesn’t find out he’s an ass until he steals her Prius and is halfway to Vegas with her supposed best friend passed out in the back seat.” Her tone darkened with anger, and even Dipper, with his renowned obliviousness to the basics of human emotions, could see the underlying hurt that flickered as her shoulders drooped and sadness flashed momentarily through her eyes.

“Sorry to hear about that.” He mumbled an apology, once more meaning it. Life sucked. He could sympathise with anyone who had experience with that.

“Don’t be, it was a  _Prius_." She smirked, voice dropping to a low murmur. "I like to imagine the dick made it to Vegas, lost all his money and ended up having to sell half his organs to stop the gang lord of this massive drug cartel that he pissed off from sticking a bullet between his eyes.”

Dipper chuckled dryly. “That sounds like a healthy coping method.”

“What about you?” Rachel batted back, pouring herself a drink, downing it then smacking her lips, tongue flicking out to catch the spare drops of liquid clinging to them. “How do you deal with the jackass of your life?”

“Oh me?” He shot her his best psychotic grin. “I kill people for him. Buried a guy alive the other day. Old childhood acquaintance. Very messhy.” He slurred, pulling a face and she laughed.

“Whatever lets you sleep at night. I’ve pretty much accepted life fucking sucks by this point, and that’s depressing when you realise you know that and you’re only eighteen.”

He giggled, suddenly lightheaded. “Tell me about it.”

“Maybe I will,” She flicked her hair lightly, and Dipper had the strangest urge to reach out and touch the waterfall cascading down her back. “You live here right? Why don’t we ditch the crowd and head to your room? Don’t get me wrong, your sister’s parties are kickass, but-”

“-But they can get a little much? Be happy you’re not on clean-up duty the next day.” Dipper muttered darkly.  “And yeah, I’d like that.”

He didn’t know how exactly they made it to his room. It was mostly Rachel pulling him along and him yelling out half understandable directions as he tripped, the picture of elegance, up the stairs. He blinked as the room in front of him swam. Had the world always been this close to his face? “Jusht how much did I drink?” he questioned aloud, head fuzzy, vaguely aware of hands pulling him and a warmth that he collapsed gratefully into.

“About 7 shots of tequila.” Rachel’s face fogged, features blurring together. “And a cup of Mabel Juice. What’s in that stuff anyway?”

“3 shoth of vodka, half a glash of pitt cola, coffee beans, spharkles and a lot of Mabel Magic,” he recited, tone overly serious.

She laughed, but the sound was distorted, like water through his ears. “It’s like your sister in a cup.”

“Yeah,” he hummed. “It ish.”

He was drunk, he realised, and giggled. Dipper the responsible and socially-inept was drunk off his ass and alone in his room with a girl.

“H-ey,” he croaked as the hands holding him began to descend. “What are you doing?”

“Banging you.” Rachel replied plainly. “Lets go to your room is the universal language for lets have sex.” She stated, deadpanned.

“Oh.” Dipper squeaked in a moment of genius. He wanted to say more, mostly hell no, please would you kindly remove your hands from my ass and kindly get out of my room, but the words pointedly refused to leave his tongue, blurring together into his mind and he was only able to manage the dumb single syllable.

He tried to pull away or fight her off, but Dipper was unused to the alcohol coursing through his system and all he managed was a weak shove, which she presumably took for foreplay, as she began to pull his clothes off, soft, warm hands now feeling cold and unnatural as they breezed across his now exposed skin.

“Wow man, rad tatt.”

Tatt? He didn’t have a tattoo his mind drunkenly mumbled as suddenly he was hit by a rolling wave of fury that exploded behind his eyes, promising painful death. Then resurrection. Followed by more painful death. Oh fuck. “You should run,” he slurred.

“What the actual fuck?" Rachel screeched in surprise, her hand whipped away from where it had caressed his shoulder. "It just zapped me!”

“You should definitely run.” Dipper muttered decidedly, sobering slightly, gasping as the pain continued to burn through his mind.

“GET YOUR SLUTTY HANDS OFF OF MY PROPERTY BEFORE I REMOVE THEM MYSELF YOU UNDIGNIFIED WHORE!”

The door was thrown open; the enraged form of Bill Cipher illuminated by the hallway’s dying light, the being no longer able to be mistaken for human, the irises that had once been electric blue now dipped in a liquid, glowing gold, lips curled back and long, pointed  _fangs_ on display. He looked about ready to murder someone. Or at the least greivously harm them.

“Run!” he repeated, shouting out the command that Rachel was now only too happy to obey, detaching herself from him and sprinting out of the room in record time, her form cowing as she brushed past a thunderous Bill, who glared at the retreating girl, eyes literally flashing red as they blazed.

“IF I EVER SEE YOU WITH HIM AGAIN I WILL PULL YOUR INTESTINES OUT SO HARD THEY’LL BE STUCK THROUGH YOUR EYESOCKETS YOU PATHETIC BITCH-“

Bill roared as Rachel disappeared from sight. Suddenly Dipper was aware that he had been left alone with a very, very, pissed off Bill Cipher.

“AND YOU-“Bill whirled to face Dipper, striding over to the trembling boy who was struggling to push himself further onto the bed and away from the raging demon in a pathetic excuse of an attempt to escape Bill’s fury. “I THINK I NEED TO REMIND MY SLAVE JUST WHO HIS MASTER IS.”

“Bill I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for her to, I didn’t know she would, I didn’t think” Dipper garbled, any effect of the alcohol in his system long forgotten as he balked, trying to shy away but found only wall at his back when he moved to break away, as Bill leaned down, pressing his nose sharply into Dipper’s. At another time he would have blushed from the closeness, but now his complexion paled, cream fading to a ghostly, terrified white.

“Think?” Bill smiled at him, eyes coldly drilling into Dipper’s own. It was a condescending smile, the kind a genius gave towards a dunce. “No you didn’t. Because if you had you would have remembered that you are  **mine**.” The word was more a feral snarl and Dipper whimpered at its utterance, torn between the urge to agree and the instinct that was screaming at him to get the fuck out.

He shivered as a hand rose, bracing himself for the oncoming blow, but it  simply reached to his curls and ran through his hair before falling to caress his face in a sick farce of tenderness, the fingers tenderly tracing across his cheek also locking his head in place, forcing him to stare at the man in front.

“You’ve been a bad pet, Pine Tree. And bad pets get  ** _punished_**.” He gasped as the grip tightened, fingers harshly puncturing the skin they had stroked so gently only moments before. “I’m not a patient demon, Pine Tree. Never have been, but I waited, just for you Pine Tree. Thought I’d be  _nice_. Take it  _slow_.” He barked out a laugh. “Unluckily for you,” Bill’s other hand dropped to the buckle of his trousers, “That patience just ran out.”

Dipper yelped as he was thrown roughly from the bed and onto the floor, landing roughly. His palms stinging as they connected with the hard wooden boards. He gasped. He made to crawl away, forcing the unsteady limbs beneath him to move and attempted to weakly drag himself towards the door, but Bill was on him quicker, hand snapping out to grip his head, knuckles pressed against his scalp as fingers grabbed fistfuls of his hair and pulled, forcing Dipper’s unwilling body along with them.

“Please Bill,” he choked, sobbing, knowing how pathetic he must look. The demon ignored him, dropping his trousers and hand caressing a growing bulge visible even through the thin fabric of his boxers, pausing, as if basking in Dipper’s terror, before even those were removed, and Dipper was left staring as Bill’s hand fondled his freed dick.

“Suck it.” Bill commanded. Dipper stared at him, indignation rising despite the situation. “Like hell I will! Go fuck yourself you glorif-“

Dipper’s screeches of protests were silenced as Bill rammed his cock into his mouth.

Gagging at the intrusion, he dug his teeth into  _its_  flesh and Bill howled, pulling out of Dipper’s mouth. Dipper had barely registered his victory before the side of his face exploded in pain, and he gasped, the sound of the slap ringing out, audible even over the heavy sobs that were quickly taking over Dipper’s body.

Bill glared at him, eyes furious. “Try that again and the next time you see Shooting Star will be in a hearse.” He hissed, and Dipper signalled his understanding, nodding mutely, his body slumping as any defiance fled at the threat.

“Now suck it. Properly.”

He pressed his lips to the head, body shuddering with disgust and self-loathing, his gurgled whimpers joining Bill’s light moans.  Apparently he did something wrong, because soon the demon’s hands were pulling his head forward, forcing his dick deeper down Dipper’s throat.

The member filled his throat, and soon Dipper’s back was bucking, spine thrown up as he twitched, shuddering for air. As if realising his predicament, Bill allowed Dipper’s head to slide away slightly, though he kept his hold on the tawny locks. 

The relief was only momentary, as after allowing the boy a quick gulp of air, Bill’s grip tightened, before slamming Dipper’s head forwards, filling his mouth once more. Dipper gagged as Bill began to thrust, back and forth, roughly pounding his throat.

His lungs burned, spots appeared in the corners of his vision and he knew he would probably pass out soon. If Bill let him. His body shuddered and more tears appeared in the corner of his eyes, further distorting his sight.

The alcohol had worn off totally now, and he was painfully aware of exactly what was going on around him. And what was being done to him. God he wished he wasn’t. He wished he could pretend it wasn’t real, slip into the numbness and detachment offered by the booze, but even that small mercy was gone. Dipper was sober and no amount of imagination would persuade him that this wasn’t reality. His reality.

He gagged after a particularly sharp thrust, feeling the  _thing_ inside his mouth pulse and swell. He knew what was coming next – he knew it from the books Mabel kept that he had secretly flipped through. He knew but he wished he didn’t.

He made to break away, but Bill’s grip was too firm, and he found himself unable to budge, only able to voice his refusal through his hands which tugged, desperately hoping that his message would be conveyed as he swatted at Bill’s knees.

“No. You’ll take it and you will swallow. Every. Single. Drop. Otherwise I will murder every single person downstairs. And it will be all your fault.” Bill smiled manically and Dipper moaned, knowing that he was serious. His arms stilled as his defiance resigned, body submitting totally to Bill.

He felt it then, an explosion of warmth – unwanted warmth – as Bill’s dick shuddered then released, creamy liquid filling his mouth and tipping down his throat. He gagged, desperately wishing that he could spit it out, preferably in the demon’s face, but forced himself to swallow. Disgust filtering through his eyes as the salted bile slipped down his gullet.

Bill pulled out properly then, magicking his boxers back up around his waist and Dipper whimpered in relief, his body revolting as he fought to control his juddering limbs that dangled, freed from the ground as Bill picked him up effortlessly.

“Now tell me,” Bill growled tightly as he held the boy to his face, voice dangerously low. “Who do you belong to?”

“..B-i……ll” Dipper whispered brokenly, his mind almost as shattered as his voice.

“Say it.  **Say it**  Pine Tree.” Bill hissed, hold tightening and Dipper winced, agonised.

“Ci-p…h….er” Dipper wheezed, each letter ripped out of his abused throat.

“Who decides when you die?”

“Bi…ll… Cip..her” He moaned, half lost to the pain threatening to drag him into darkness.

“Who is the only one that can touch you?”

“…Bill Ciph..er.”

“And will you forget that?”

“No.”

“No?” Bill’s lip curled in amusement and Dipper screeched, the sound haggard, as another blow landed on the side of his face, the impact leaving his skin on fire, and he wondered briefly if the imprint of the hand could be seen against the prickled flesh.

“No m-aster.” He whispered, cowering, self-hatred welling to a new high as he finally gave in to what the monster had wanted. Said the words Bill had longed to hear. Finally bowed to its will and accepted that he was owned. He was not Dipper Pines. He'd ceased to be that the moment he had agreed to the deal. He was Bill's.

“Good boy,” Bill purred, finally dropping his hold and allowing gravity to take the boy.

He left then, a tornado of gilded gold and insect black that swept out as violently as it had made its entrance, leaving Dipper alone, to curl himself into a ball, laying atop the stains and pool of blood that was quickly forming beneath his heaving form.

He choked, mewling out half-broken sobs, hiccupping as each struggled to pass his torn throat and throbbing lips. He smashed his eyes shut, moaning softly, hoping the sweet embrace of unconsciousness would come swiftly.

 _Bill had left and Dipper was alone. Bill had left and Dipper was safe._ He chanted to himself, repeating the words in his head like a mantra, trying not to think about the  _for how long_  that followed each reutterance of the statement.  _Bill had left and Dipper was alone._

Another dull sob fell from his stained lips and his fingers clawed at his face, wishing that the image of Bill forcing his cock into Dipper’s mouth was just as easy to shield from his vision as the sight of the room Dipper’s hands were obscuring, the flesh beneath his shaking fingers wet.

_Completely and utterly alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get the smut! And you get the smut! And you, and you, and oh don't think I can't see you, yes you, over there in the corner! Smut for all!
> 
> This one's probably gonna get a rewrite, still not overly happy with how it turned out, but for now, this is it. 
> 
> Heh, well that's me, officially on holiday, packed on a roadtrip with only my laptop for company, unsure of when I'll next be able to access wifi until the next week. 
> 
> Which means for the next few days the update schedule will be out of play. I'll try and do everything I can to post at my regular times, but no promises, so you'll just have to wait and see.
> 
> On a happier note, 2000+ hits? And all those lovely comments? (I'll get round to answering them all, I promise) I seriously love you guys! All of your encouragement makes it much easier to be motivated to write, which is the reason my laptop has seen more use in the past weeks than it has in the past year. 
> 
> All you readers are truly lovelies and if I could hug you all through the screen then I would probably end up with a restraining order and this conversation would became much more awkward. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking round for the 2000, without giving too much away, the best is yet to come. Look forward to more character deaths, more Dorito shipping moments (the cutesy ones may be small in number, but they still exist!), more psychological torture, more of Bill's fuckery, more of Dippy going dippy and more lovely facts about the human body's endurance of pain. Because learning is fun when the lesson is on torture. That's how it goes, right?  
> ~ MUI


	16. If a Pine Tree Falls in a Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is life?
> 
> The poetic answer is that life is nothing but a series of contradictions that are both beautiful and abhorrent.
> 
> The correct answer is that life fucking sucks.
> 
> Warning: Self harm, attempted suicide, reference to rape and a gore warning of eh, I'd say round about 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bring out those flashlights folks. Things get dark as Dipper finally loses what little remains of his sanity.

Dipper’s gut wrenched as he watched the outline of the timber wall dragged unwillingly into shadow. The pit of unease sitting in the stricken teen’s stomach deepened into a bottomless cavity as his fingers fell restlessly upon his thighs in a quick, angry rhythm, each beat of the improvised drum shooting through the painfully silent air like a fired gun shot.

He had once appreciated the sunset. He had never been one for pretty sights, they had never interested him in the way that the mysteries the areas held had – he left the fawning over the ‘oooh pointy’ mountains to Mabel, never quite understanding her ability to gush over the specific sheen of a water’s surface for over five minutes and still sound excited. But even he had cast his head upwards on occasion and marvelled at the paint palette of colours in the sky that shifted in spectrum as flakes of light were sleepily roused from their slumber and resumed their post in the stretching sea of indigo.

And yet as he dully observed the daily phenomenon occurring, he was unable to think of it as anything other than the death of the day. Or maybe it was the death of him. He wasn’t sure. He’d stopped being sure of a lot of things lately. That was what his life was now – a series of statements split apart by sures and not sures.

He was not sure if he was entirely or even slightly sane

He was not sure if he was entirely alive.

He was sure that he belonged to Bill.

Maybe he would make a list of them. A list to go with the latest parchment offerings to the pile that had taken over the purpose of his floor –  Reasons Not to Kill My Family and Reasons Why I Should Run The Fuck Away From Bill. All of them entirely logical. All of them entirely ignored. Not that lists mattered. He was already struggling to remember why he’d even liked them in the first place. The insane didn’t tend to listen to logic, and any paper he scrawled now could easily be taken simply as the ramblings of a madman.

His nails bit angrily into the tops of his palms as his fists curled. The action was mostly useless. But it was at least, feeling. And he was desperate for feeling. Feeling something, anything other than the crushing emptiness that bore down on him, leaving him choked for air even when Bill’s fingers weren’t wrapped around his throat. He briefly wondered if Bill had a neck fetish. It would certainly explain a lot.

There was desperation there, to _feel_ , to _know_ he at least still retained some basic emotion. That part of him, no matter how small, could remain classified as human. It clawed at his mind, urgent in the knowledge of what should exist, a tireless search for something that had some so naturally but now eluded him. The absence was more than noticeable. It was painful. It was absolutely _maddening_.

He scratched blearily at the space above one eye, rubbing already reddened skin until it gathered into a furious welt that burst open, dusting the ends of his nails in a faded cherry.

Ford had told him about daymares, back when Dipper hadn’t continued his character trait of screwing relationships over, but he had never experienced one until he gutted his sister like a pig while she was admonishing him over caffeine overuse that morning. To which he had shakenly poured another cup of coffee to the sound of “Dipperrrr, that’s your third cup this morning” and hurriedly departed. He’d stayed barricaded in his room since.

He reached gingerly to touch the mark decorating his shoulder, feeling the stamp emit its usual flare at the contact. Not quite painful, not quite pleasant. Uncomfortable, but bearable. He still hadn't forgiven Bill for its existence, but apparently the alternative had been a dog collar. He still wasn’t sure if the demon had been joking. He was Bill’s that was sure. And never allowed to forget it.

His hand dropped from his arm and pressed forwards, fingers shuddering as they brushed the panel in front skittishly, movements jerked and wary, afraid the slightest touch would banish the boy reflected in front of him. He laughed. Afraid his own reflection would run from him. He guessed he could now be sure he wasn't quite sane. Another point to add if he ever did make that list.

Reflected Dipper laughed too, the skeleton’s features twisting sharply as gums pulled over teeth in a ragged imitation of the action, greasy hair falling over raw, puffed-up, bloodshot eyes that glanced nervously through him, flitting from each corner of the room fearfully, as if expecting to find some psycho killer with a chainsaw lurking behind Dipper’s wardrobe. Which was funny, because the psycho killer wasn’t hiding behind some chunk of furniture with a poor paint job.

The crack that splintered across the pane ran above and through his eye, the skeletal, fragmented fingers deforming the core, leaving him a doll with half its face smashed in. It was a painful sight. One that reminded him of a time when triangle demons remained triangular in their shape. When the tip of a top hat brought only the entire shift in the surrounding world’s balance.

It was easy to believe that the boy staring back was an imposter who had slipped into his place. He liked to pretend that. Better that than the alternative – accepting that this was what he had become.

Huffing, he turned away from the window and threw himself down beside his bed, violently throwing his head into the depths of his hands as he freed the first sob.

He blinked, rubbing one hand over an eye angrily. Sleep had become an enemy.  An enemy he had no hopes of defeating, no matter how much caffeine he pumped into his system. He’d given up fighting it the night that he had poured his eighth mug and still somehow ended up passed out on his pillow.

He murdered his family each night, but it was no longer Bill who directed the axe or knife, or whatever the night’s weapon of choice was. No more whispers of encouragement. It was just Dipper.

And each morning he would wake up and sit across the table from the sister he had moments before decapitated or disembowelled or drowned. Feeling sick as he forced a smile and conversed, mindlessly counting the moments before he could once more slip out of the reality that had been built around him, driving its walls into his world without consent.

Sometimes his mind would be a city of noise, each thought its own angrily yelling pedestrian and he would clap his hands over his ears and scream, begging for silence, and other times it would still completely, and he would find even the slightest ripple through the deserted expanse excruciatingly  loud.

Dipper was alone. Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe the Mabel corpse on the floor wasn’t another hallucination. Maybe he really had finally killed his sister. He hoped not. This one wasn’t as fortunate as the others. Hadn’t been spared the mercy of drowning or been pushed, relatively painlessly, down the stairs.

She’d had both her eyes ripped out, the sockets where orbs had once glowed reduced now to a pitch jet void after he’d popped each of them, the rubbery spheres deflating like a balloon to the blade’s pin. The mouth curved upwards by the lines that had slit in sloping lines across her lips in their woven patchwork. Her hair clung to her scalp in uneven clumps. He felt a stab of guilt and blanched as he recalled the ease in which he’d plucked the strands out.

As if sensing his unease, Maybe-Maybe-Not-Mabel watched him silently, accusingly, her pale hands bunched together at her front, the arms pressed lightly over the gaping gash in the centre of her stomach, the fabric of the sweater surrounding the fissure frayed and dampened.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He whimpered, pressing his hands over his ears and curling his legs into his stomach. Maybe-Maybe-Not-Mabel remained silent, empty eyes boring into his, the twin chasms observing him from her corner, the fading light throwing the already marred face into further distortion. 

“You think I wanted this?!” He suddenly broke into a screech, violently lurching forward, as if about to strike the girl. “I didn’t. I didn’t want any of this.”

His voice descended into a moan and he rocked his body, back and forth, slamming into the edge of the bed, numbly acknowledging the pain jarring the edges of his spine upon each impact. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry” His words slurred together as he hunkered against the frame, breath ragged as the walls around him pressed in as the safe sanctuary he had conjured years ago revolted against its creator.

His eyes narrowed into a cold glare towards the corpse and he reached, closing around a leather back. He hurled the nearest book towards its form, screaming. The object passed through Mabel’s chest, phasing through just above the gash in her belly, hitting the wall to her back with a hollow thump, before falling roughly to the ground below to join its brethren.

“You’re not real.” He muttered, shaking his head adamantly, as if to force the sight out of his mind like water from clogged ears as he twisted his gaze away from the hallucination. “You’re not real. Mabel’s downstairs. Learning how to play poker with Stan.” Not Mabel. A small smile flitted over the tight grimace. Not his sister. He hadn’t killed Mabel. Not yet.

Dipper laughed. Screaming broken howls that begged for release as they ripped through the tattered remains of his mind.  Choking, hurtling sobs that descended into giggles playing like a broken record.

Playing like a broken record.

And he was broken.

His mind had shattered completely, torn apart and then rebuilt by the demon he had given himself to. Upon finally pushing him off the cliff (figuratively to Dipper’s relief) without a parachute, the demon had realised that he preferred his pet as something other than a splattered stain, and pulled him back moments before Dipper’s face could say hello goodbye to the ground.

Bill Cipher had not so much as cut but haphazardly pointed an axe in their direction and hacked, his puppet’s strings. Only then he’d decided he wanted to duct tape them back together.

He wondered briefly if he had ever stopped being Bill's puppet. If it had been Bill's will, and not Dipper's choice, that had forced his annual return to and eventual settling in, Gravity Falls. _Probably_ he thought bitterly. That level of meddling certainly wouldn't come as a surprise.

Living but dead. Alive but only to the very least of the definition. His heart still pumped blood. His brain still dictated action. He was alive and he was not.

He existed. An existence that he did not want. That he desired wholly to end. And yet he couldn’t. His mind was broken. Body was lost. And soul, well his soul was gone a long time ago. His fate had been sealed ever since the damn deal.

His blood frozen ice that moved sluggishly through his veins. Dipper did not know which parts of him were Bill and which were Dipper Pines. He guessed none of them. The demon had taken those too. 

Oh he tried. Tried and tried. Bill had once remarked offhandedly that it was easier to die than it was to live. So why the fuck was the demon making Dipper’s death so god damn difficult?

Because Dipper wasn’t allowed to die. Not for lack of trying. He had. But he couldn’t. Raised the blade and felt its bite nip into his flesh. He could shell out half his blood. Could walk in front of a main road with his eyes snapped shut. But never cease. Never succeed. Never end.

And then Bill would come swooping in, laughing the harsh laugh that rang in his ears and haunted him, promising nightmares and cruelty through harsh slaps. And sick twisted kindness in gentle caresses and warm embraces. And he would gather the broken boy up into his arms and hold him, pressing Dipper’s face gently and tightly into the harsh and soft folds of that worshipped and abhorred golden tailcoat, shattering and repairing him simultaneously.

Thirty second attempt’s the charm, right?

And so he remained. Survived each night. Slogged through work shifts. Fell to slaughter in the evenings. He’d lost track of how many he’d killed. Of how he’d killed. He’d snapped a neck the other day. It had been easy. Like pulling a Christmas cracker. Just wrap your hands round, get a good grip and twist. Only instead of a crummy joke that the relatives would force a smile at, he had received another charge of manslaughter. And he’d laughed. As Bill had said, you can’t spell slaughter without laughter.

Not Mabel grinned, exposing rotting stumps stuck against bleeding gums. A gurgle he took for a giggle forcing its way out of her chest. As if sharing the joke.

His hands skidded against the boards, skittering, nervously; panic building deeper with each discovery of empty space. The tips hit against a solid and the terror clawing its way up his throat receded as his fingers curved determinedly around the handle, knuckles whitening as their hold on the object increased.

He dragged it across his flesh, keening in relief as the slashes across the canvas bubbled then sprung open, sharp jagged motions that fell against the pressure of bone, the ambrosia that flowed from the pulsing lines anchoring him to his existence. 

_Just a little faster. Just a little harder. Swing a little faster. Push a little harder._

Not-Mabel watched him almost imploringly. A cockroach crawled out of her left eye’s gash, its back legs twitching lazily as its body rolled down her nose before descending into the still open mouth.

He prayed to god. He prayed to every entity that existed. All but one. Because he wasn’t that insane. Not yet. Not enough to ask that particular entity for aid in his plight.

He still called him Pine Tree. Dipper didn’t know why. He hadn’t worn the damn hat for weeks.

_Pine Tree Pine Tree._

He plunged the knife into his stomach, gritting his teeth and enduring, tearing into his lip to silence the screech that threatened to rip out of his throat along with his flesh. He pushed the weapon deeper, ramming it in further as he felt the obstruction of organs that protested his path.

_Smoke’s rising and Pine Tree’s burning._

He sunk it into his side, until the blade was entirely obscured from sight, choking on the stream of swears that bubbled along his tongue as the obstacle gave and the blade’s path continued. His legs stuttered and he was tossed momentarily into freefall before landing in an unhealthy explosion of sound.

_Pine Tree Pine Tree._

Just a little deeper. He moaned, gurgling, and forced his body forwards, hacking out a cough as crimson oozed from the corner of his lips, staining the floorboards that he had fallen to. His vision blurred and he almost sang in victory. Finally finally. He rushed towards the darkness, hungrily twisting the blade between numbing fingers as more scarlet pumped from the rift he had cleaved.

 _Pine Tree’s lost his pine needles. Pine Tree P_ -

“Pine Tree.”

And then Bill was there. As he always was. Tearing the knife away, forcing the blade from his fingers before it could tear his flesh further apart. Irreparably apart. Bill’s hands scooping him up from the floor, caging him in arms and pinning his limbs in place before they could wrench across his flesh again. Wiping the blood from the sides of his mouth and stitching his body back up before he could cease.

Clothing him once more in flesh before his heart could remember its mortality and shudder to a halt.

He caught a glimpse of electric eyes tightened in a show of concern before his vision turned yellow as Dipper’s face was pressed into the tailcoat. Again. Just like yesterday and the day before and the day before that and tomorrow.

Thirty third attempt’s the charm, right?

Soothing him and running a hand down his back and cooing his name softly into his ear, as he was lifted, cradled, against that thrumming chest.

“B-Bill?” a shudder. A memory of his throat forced open as he screamed and some thing thrust insid- he curled in on himself. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. He whimpered, skin aflame as millions of needles forced their way into his skull. “M-master?”

“Pine Tree.” Bill exhaled, sounding almost sad as he puffed hot breaths onto his forehead. “Dipper.” Dipper moaned at the mention of his name, unable to form the whys and insults that he wished he could throw on the being holding him. Able only to greedily press himself closer in the hopes that their warmth may banish the unfeeling chill that had sunk through his limbs. To delay that monstrous feeling of nothingness that was already threatening to return and pull him back its terrifying grasp.

“Make it go away,” he managed to beg in between wrenching gasps, not even sure exactly what he was begging for. But God he just couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t see another corpse of his sister that he’d killed. Couldn’t bear the emptiness that clung to his steps. The growing black hole inside of him that was slowly devouring him from the inside.

He sobbed; pushing his nose into their shoulder as he heard the smirk that wrapped around their lips as they replied, grip on him tightening as they purred.

“Gladly.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm no certified doctor but I think it's safe to say Dipper's officially one Tree short of a Pine. Do I feel bad? Hah. Ask a better question, like whether I worry about my sleeping schedule. The answer to both is no.
> 
> Because who needs sleep when you can force a Demon to kiss an aged up twelve year old? Hush now, don't fight it.
> 
> Bet you're surprised to see me, trust me so am I. Turns out I will have wifi for this week, so the update schedule should be relatively normal. 
> 
> Which is great for you, because chapters, and great for me because I don't have to worry about internet withdrawal symptoms. Win win. 
> 
> Which also means I don't have an excuse to not answer all your lovely comments, which is on my to do list, along with clearing out my search history before the FBI bash down my door. The lengths I go to research. 
> 
> Well, I'll see all you amazing people on the other side. And on Thursday. And boy is Thursday's chapter a fun one. Teehee  
> ~ MUI


	17. Two Tickets for the Torture Train, Choo Choo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper's lil nut has finally cracked so Bill treats him to a night out to celebrate in the only way that he knows - plenty of mutilation and with grievous injury to all involved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are the end times upon us or did MUI finally get round to answering some comments?
> 
> Those torches still got battery? Good. Aw, don't look at me like that, I promise this one will really heat up! It certainly got me all hot and bothered! You could even say it will really burn you up! HAH comedy!
> 
> Gore warning of level 6, possibly a light 7. But I mean, it's torture. It's meant to hurt.

_Perhaps_ , he mused as he shifted the direction of the knife and smashed the handle against the glass, wrist jarring slightly at the impact but grip remaining steady. _I should feel bad about this._ He slipped through the narrow gash he had created, annoyance buzzing as one further reaching shard caught the edge of his sleeve and ripped the fabric, exposing the glowing lines of the triangle staining his skin beneath. He cursed under his breath.

Because Bill, asshole that he was, still refused to teach Dipper how to teleport. Or, more accurately according to the explanation given, space hop. He knew how to bind a man in barbed wire or send nightmares to a person about combinations of a snake and badger– something which apparently came into use more than expected. But inter-dimensional travel remained a forbidden subject.

Partially, Dipper suspected, because Bill liked seeing Dipper struggle to break in silently/so loudly everyone in the entire neighbourhood was immediately alerted to his presence causing the boy to hyperventilate and fall into the throngs of paranoia as he paced beside the corpse he had just murdered, expecting at any moment for cops to bash the door down and burst in, and partially because to space hop both of them he had to pull the boy close, close enough so that Dipper’s guts didn’t splatter onto the nearest tree a metre from where they had hopped to upon arrival.

He still wasn’t sure if that rule had been made up, but he wasn’t about to test its credibility. He liked his body parts inside him. Where they belonged. Although he figured Bill would get a major kick if half of his Pine Tree decided to emigrate unannounced onto an actual pine tree.

It was strange, going from the pounding desire to off yourself every waking second to clinging desperately onto any form of life available. But then again, Dipper was a Pines (though the surname was probably only in the honourable form now, and he suspected as his body slid over the window’s sill, landing in a neat heap on the stained carpet below, that even that was pushing it, given that he had essentially betrayed years of trust and was helping the demon who had made his intentions for the world and loathing of all bearing the surname clear, back to power) and Pines were no strangers to the strange.

He had asked for the pain to go away. And go away it did. When he asked exactly what Bill had done, the simple reply was given with a vague wave of the hand, that probably should have worried him, and a wink that should definitely have worried him. “ _Just remove a little needless morality_.” The demon had announced flippantly, as if he had merely removed a stray hair from Dipper's clothing.

Either way, the voices in Dipper’s mind were not, for once, insanely rambling off all the joys of an all-expenses paid trip to the underworld.  Though any of their ramblings now were far from sane. A statement he was oddly indifferent to. If anything, he had accepted that this was his life now. He had a job to do, one that was once again forced on him due to circumstance, but one thats appeal, he grudgingly had to confess, was growing.

He tolerated the killings. Hell, he even enjoyed them. There, he admitted it; Bill Cipher had finally turned him into a fully-fledged psychopath. He took pleasure from the slaughter of others and he didn’t even care.

He padded through the darkened corridor silently. If there was one thing he had learned from six years of sneaking out of creaky floorboard central, it was how to tread without prematurely bringing the entire household down on his head. Despite his looks, Grunkle Stan was a light sleeper and Dipper had been forced into restocking shelves alone on more than one occasion. Of course, not that Bill ever liked to do things quietly.

“Will you shut up?” he hissed at the demon who was whistling cheerfully, merrily smashing his cane against the walls. Or any other available surface he came close enough to. Dipper wondered exactly how the fuck someone could sleep through the cacophony of noise Bill was all too happily up keeping.

He received the answer when the bedroom door swung open and light filtered through from the corridor in which they’d been cramped in, harshly illuminating the new surroundings of whitwashed walls and faded furniture that Mabel would have argued was going for the shabby chic design. Dipper would have agreed, only the battered pieces appeared to have ignored the second part entirely.

"Is everyone you want to kill a hardcore alcoholic?” He asked pointedly, lifting one foot to the height of his knee as he stepped over an empty vodka bottle in exaggerated action, the stench emitting from the vial a sign of exactly how long the object had found the floor as its home.

Bill shrugged, pausing momentarily before turning and slamming his body into the nearest wall. “Happy coincidence.” He chirped, the end of the sentence slightly muffled as his nose mushed against the screen in front.

Dipper grunted, irritation growing. He’d ransacked the place in his search for the occupant, attempting to slip through the interior undetected, all the while paranoid that he’d turn a corner and come face to face with his next unlucky victim brandishing a cleaver in his face.

It had been extremely difficult to keep calm, even without Bill stomping around loud enough to wake the dead. But apparently not loud enough to raise the girl passed out, face-down, ratty, dirt-coloured hair the only feature other than the splayed lines beneath the covers, visible as she rumbled out a series of snores that came close to breaking the sound barrier.

His interest quickly faded. Boozed up idiots were hardly any fun. Half the time they didn’t even realise that the guy currently shoving a knife into their gut wasn’t some drunken hallucination brought on by seven too many after a hard night out on the town, most of which he suspected, spent half alive in a gutter.

And by the time they tried to make a decent, actually understandable conversation, he’d be reading their obituary in one of the many papers Stan slammed down in front of him, his Grunkle re-iterating each of the Shack’s new policies and conducting bag searches to ensure that both of his charges were fully equipped to defend themselves upon each published edition.

He was becoming almost as paranoid as his brother. Not that the twin would give up that title easily. Ford had locked himself in his lab and surrounded himself with tomes so dusty Dipper could easily believe they dated back to prehistoric times, convinced that Gravity Fall’s most famous resident was of demonic origin.

Well, Dipper glanced over at Bill; the nightmarish entity was currently repeatedly greeting the poorly painted plaster with his face. He wasn’t entirely wrong.

He strode over to the bed, not bothering to mask his footsteps. There was no point. The girl was dead to the world – in both the metaphorical and soon to be literal sense.

Maybe he should have felt guilty as he flipped her limp body roughly over to face him, the back of her head lolling back and falling harshly against the top board in the process. Old Dipper certainly would have. But as he slipped the blade against her throat he felt only contempt accompanied by an intoxicatingly strong and extremely welcome rush of power that fizzled through his system and gave him a better high than any drug could ever hope to attain.

He yelped, surprised, as the body beneath him suddenly fell into a series of loose jerks, signalling that she may be closer to consciousness than he had first assumed. The girl moved her arm above Dipper’s before he could snap back, pulling him unwillingly along with her as she rolled onto her side and locking him into a very unwelcome embrace. Words slurred as her mouth stretched into a yawn and she mumbled something suspiciously along the lines of “Mmm I love it when we cuddle babe.” Her mouth pressed into Dipper’s ear and he gagged as the full wave of booze wafting from her muzzle assaulted his senses.

He flailed, struggling to break free from the drunken girl’s hold. “I am not,” he gritted his teeth and shoved the offending limbs off, “your fucking body pillow.” Escape attempt successful, he whipped around, pushing himself off the top of the covers. He carved a hand through his curls, then resumed his prior stance, returning the blade to its former position on the nape of the exposed flesh.

“Not yet.” Behind him, the dull succession of thuds and resulting giggles had fallen silent as the speaker stilled. He shivered at the shift in atmosphere, the air retreating from his lungs as if even the insentient particles could feel the increased danger. Dipper didn’t know what was worse. That fact that Bill was angry or the fact that he wasn’t totally flipping out in rage as he usually did.

The furniture upkept their poor condition but otherwise remained in one piece. Dipper’s throat remained strangely Bill hand free. The demon’s eyes retained their blue colouring. If anything Bill seemed calm. Except the dull thuds of dress shoes had heightened into an agonizing slap as he stalked towards the pair and Dipper’s spine was sent spiralling into revolt upon the sound of each approaching blow.

Dipper wisely, chose to remain silent. He knew there were times in life when you closed your mouth and shut the hell up. Times like when there was a very pissed off demon who had the power to erase your existence in the blink of their one eye standing directly behind you.

Dipper knew, but drunk unnamed chick apparently did not share such knowledge, as DUC chose that exact moment to bolt upright, inhale, open her mouth and loose an ear-splitting screech ten times worse than the previous rumbling explosions that had him wondering if she was closely related to a banshee. And to which Dipper responded to by slamming the butt of the knife’s handle directly into her face.

Not enough to force her back into unconsciousness, but he put enough strength behind the blow to momentarily stun her, and upon the impact the scream cut abruptly off, her eyes blown wide as they fearfully stared at him, flicking from his face to the edge of the knife blade resting in his fist before returning to his face, the significant amount of alcohol ingested earlier forgotten as reality dawned and the full impact of the situation sunk in. Her sudden sobering was possibly helped along by the impact of the blow against her nose.

“Hey Pine Tree,” Bill cheerily called, violent dress shoe slaps cutting off as he came to a stop beside the almost catatonic teen. “Did you know that there isn’t a measurement for pain?” Dipper shook his head mutely as Bill casually pushed the arm holding the knife down to his sides. “Mmm, you meatbags tried to make one. 1941. University of Cornell. Very messy. Questionable morals.” Bill clucked his tongue, shaking his head slowly, as if disappointed. “They called it the dol. Cute name. Cuter experiment. They created a scale of dols and tested it on people by burning the hands of women in labour and asking what hurt.” A slow smile licked across Bill’s face as his fingers shot out and grabbed the now fully awake woman’s hand, forcing it open and holding it close to Dipper, as if offering it for him to take. “Well Pine Tree, what do you say, how about another magic lesson?”

Dipper couldn’t deny that he was curious. The desire to try the spell out properly had grown to be almost unbearable, ever since he’d first used it. And he’d been practicing. So much so it wouldn’t vaporise the entire house immediately. Probably. It was a roughly 50-50 chance and one Dipper was willing to take.

As if sensing what was about to come, DUC tried to pull away but he merely drove the knife through her hand, the blade passing through the tissue and bone and popping happily out the other side, sinking with ease past the duvet and lodging into the mattress, he retained his grip on the handle, pressing it down firmer and pinning her in place.

“Yo…u fu…ck…ing b..a…s…tar…d” She wheezed, the vulgar words tangled with high-pitched squawks as her body trembled, base instinct uselessly kicking in as she remained immobile, both from the knife in which he’d impaled her and from Bill’s steadfast grip on her wrist which wavered only slightly from her attempts to wrench herself free. 

He closed his eyes, ignoring the frankly disappointingly unimaginative insult – you fucking bastard was about as creative as hey you, yeah you, shutup – and instead followed the violent tug that had begun to spark through his mind at the suggestion of the supernatural method.

He opened his own palm and placed it on top of hers, in a crude imitation of one of Bill’s handshakes. He smirked as she flinched at the contact, body balking at the intrusion onto her skin.

“Ooooh stylish.” Bill purred, humming appreciatively at the gesture as he leaned his body into Dipper’s.

He stiffened at the intimacy, but retained his peace, and allowed Bill’s unoccupied fingers to rest on his shoulders. He reached the end of the pull, eyes snapping open as the word formed on his tongue and leapt across his expectant lips. “ ** _Ignis._** ”

The squawks hit a new high note as flames burst into existence, drenching both of their hands in a bright cerulean glow. He pushed his hand deeper into hers, enjoying the comforting warmth of the blue now wreathing the tips of his fingers.

“See that,” Bill jabbed a finger to DUC who was apparently having a significantly less pleasurable experience, “would be forty five dols.”

She howled as the skin nearest the flame began to angrily bubble, flashing a protesting red, popping open like bubble wrap as the flesh began to singe and peel back, the fires hungrily devouring tissue until they had seared off the layers to the whitened calcium beneath, before even that pooled into liquid and disappeared into the miniature inferno and he found himself holding empty space. He dropped his hands to her legs and repeated the process, moving from part to part with Bill chiming in occasionally to comment with each new jump on the scale. “Oooh sixty. And that’s seventy. Gosh, ninety-five and still alive!” watching in rapt fascination as flesh mottled and ripped away, thin layers of fat oozing out from the gaping rifts created as skin cracked and crumbled like dead leaves, the blobs momentarily hissing as they ran down what was left of her form before evaporating.

He finished with her stomach, watching as the pinks of insides stuttered and charred into an inky black, pulling back as the flimsy organs solidified then liquefied, the slop falling into the remains of her smoking ribs. He felt her spasm and forced his hand to her face, aware that her still breathing was nothing short of a miracle. Or at the intervention of a demon.

The tops of her eyeballs sputtered, bubbles frothing across the creamy surface that began to boil, the frequency and urgency of which growing as they cooked, turning to a bright white goo that quickly began to shrink beneath the flame’s ferocity. In moments all that was left was the charred void they had left behind, before even that too was gone as her skull disintegrated, falling to dust which landed below him in a messy heap.

He knelt to the ashes, sifting through the pathetic pile before extinguishing those too. Feeling nothing but disappointment as the fires curled around his nails disappeared with them, purpose completed.

“Aw kid, you make the cutest arsonist.” Dipper blushed and shrank back in silent protest as Bill’s fingers grabbed his cheeks and pulled at the little remaining baby fat, before the demon opened his arms expectantly and Dipper pushed himself into them, struggling to breathe as his entire face flamed when they snared around his chest, breath hitching at the prospect of them descending lower.

The blush deepened before he caught himself, refusing to jump off that particular cliff just yet. His feelings for Bill were complicated, and he remained unsure whether that was one mystery he would ever want to solve. He couldn't fool himself into thinking of the demon as a friend but his feelings - whatever they were; love, hate, forced loyalty - ran too deep to be simply forgotten. So he side-stepped round them. Mabel might ship them but he wasn't about to rip his heart open and confess his undying love for his master anytime soon.

Most of the time he managed to blindly follow Bill's orders but from time to time the not-such-a-triangle would pull a stunt and Dipper would be left feeling like he'd just been in the middle of a stampeding herd of buffalo. 

As if sensing the boy's internal dilema, Bill cackled, grip tightening as Dipper's eyes scrunched shut, preparing himself for the nausea that came with reforming your molecules into an entirely different space. 

He blanched as the ground beneath his feet fell away and once more he was hurled onto that indescribable rollercoaster of traversing the void that Bill had pulled them both into, the sensation thankfully only lasting a second before he sprawled onto the Mystery Shack's floorboards, dragging a raccously laughing Bill down with him.

"Mason Pines.”

Shit. The giggle on Bill’s lips died as he felt the demon stiffen beside him, both of them staring at the girl Bill had just dropped them in front of. “Mab-“ He opened his mouth to explain, but the sibling ignored the attempt, her hands locked on her hips as her eyes narrowed into slits, surprise fading into unbridled fury as she puffed up, the bristles of the sweater reminding him of some neon porcupine as she hissed in a low voice poorly lacking in its usual joviality. “What have you done and why the fuck is there a Bill Cipher on your arm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess you could say look before you leap into an undetermined and inhabited space in our dimension. Tut tut bad Bill. 
> 
> Dipper's joined the Dark Side but he still hasn't accepted he and Bill were meant to be. Tut tut bad Dip.
> 
> So it appears the cat, er dream demon is finally out of the bag. Whoops. Ah well, it was about time someone found out. Oooooh manufactured tension, such a new concept.
> 
> Tune in next time for more drama, more possibly cute bordering psychotic shipping moments and of course, more angst. Because I haven't already tortured this family enough. 
> 
> Oh well. Next chapters coming are some of my favourites to write. Why? Lw dlq'w txlwh pb hashuwlvh exw L khdu ghprqv frph lq wzrv ru wkuhhv. See you all on Saturday!
> 
> Your conductor in this train trip to Hell for tonight,  
> ~ MUI


	18. Realising You Wanted to Fuck a Triangle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, brought to you by Chipackerz, the chip-flavoured crackers!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry Mabel, we've all been there. Damn you Bill with your edges and your triangle-ness. 
> 
> Well I promised Mabel/Pacifica, so here you go folks. Some actually cute shipping moments that aren't immediately followed or after the brutal mutilation of another. I was feeling generous. 
> 
> Which brings me to the realisation that holy ship this thing has been going for just over a month now and it's already at almost 3k hits. Like damn, I think I'm gonna cry. Thank you so much to everyone who read, commented, bookmarked and kudo'd, you are all amazing people who deserve all the best, but what you'll have to settle for is some psycho on a laptop dragging your beloved characters to Hell and back. Because oh boy, are big things coming...

Mabel had been having a good day. She’d managed to snag a twenty off a tourist without Grunkle Stan’s knowledge, the flimsy paper now stashed in the guts of her pillow to be spent later, probably on something likely to have the girl careening off the walls in her use of the Shack as an oversized pinball machine, with more force. At least, with more than the usual display of power.

And while Gideon had left six messages (all unanswered. She had eventually relented and given him the number in the hopes that it would finally shut him up, but God he never stopped and on the third consecutive day of eleven or so messages being left within five minutes of each other, each demanding her attention, she realised serious mistakes had been made) Paz had also called to inform the brunette of her freedom that evening. Which meant free limo ride and trip into town. And a chance away from Stan.

The happiness at the prospect of escaping from her Grunkle was accompanied by a sharp stab of guilt. She loved the man dearly, but lately Stan had been more Fordsy than normal. Read: extremely paranoid. As evidenced by the can of pepper spray currently residing against her leg, the metal cold on her skin, despite the layer of fabric separating the two.

She’d been having a good day, that is, until her brother fell out of the sky.

She would have totally been okay with the situation, slightly fazed, but otherwise okay because this was _Dipper_ , and in all his life, falling through the ceiling was hardly the strangest thing her brother had ever done. Or, there was no doubt in her mind, would ever do.

So she would have been okay with the situation, if it weren’t for the body of Will, currently pressed on top of him, looking decidedly more yellow than usual and sporting a painfully familiar top hat that was defiantly saying suck it to gravity as it bobbed cheerily above its owner’s golden head.

Oh and for the fact that Dipper had got a tattoo. And not the kind you look back at in regret after thinking getting some random guy’s name, who you just met at the bar five minutes ago, scrawled across your chest was your greatest idea since deciding to order those four shots of rum you downed the hour before.

No, the mark clung to his exposed flesh, its design horribly visible through the gash in the sleeve. Three lines strung together and pinned in place by a sharpened oval that resided in the box’s insides, a thin cat-like slit running down the oval’s middle, with more sloping lines that formed lashes pushing out of the all-knowing, all-seeing, all-annoying, eye of providence. Dipper had a tattoo of Bill Cipher.

She stared at Wil- no, not Will. She choked back a horrified gasp, every fibre in her body screaming to wrestle Dipper away and run as far they could, not stopping until they had to, preferably on the side of another country’s borderline. _Bill_.

Suddenly everything strange about Will made sense. The guy’s inability to use anything in the kitchen properly. His closeness to Dipper. The nicknames. She furiously berated herself. Sapling? Stars? Six Fingers? Mabel you absolute idiot. How hadn’t she seen it before? Will hadn’t seemed human because he wasn’t. Wasn’t human. He was a…

Oh god. She fought the urge to throw up. He was a triangle. She’d had the hots for a fucking triangle. Her cheeks reddened, mortified. She hoped Dipper would mistake the blush for anger. She’d had crazy crushes before. But she was never going to live this one down. “Mason Pines,” she balanced a hand on her hip and glared stormily at the pair. “What have you done and why the fuck is there a Bill Cipher on your arm?”

Dipper at least looked sheepish. His face reddened as he pushed Cipher off and gathered his limbs, standing slowly. He opened his mouth to speak before seemingly deciding against the notion, closing it firmly. He shot a pleading gaze to Bill, as if begging for his intervention, but the demon simply smirked, giving no other return.

She jabbed a finger towards her twin’s face. “You. Him. Explain now. Or I’m calling Grunkle Ford.” She added, surprised as he _flinched_ at the name. Even more surprising was the vulnerability radiating off him in waves when he eventually did speak. He started forward, legs buckling slightly beneath his weight, desperation cracking through each word spoken.

“Mabel wait!” He exhaled deeply, drawing in breath greedily as his approach halted. His feet shuffled. “Mabel you can’t. You can’t tell Ford. You can’t tell anyone. They’ll kill him.” Dipper pleaded, his eyes blown wide as he stared at her, terrified. “He- I….Bill saved us.”

Her nostrils flared violently as she snorted. “Dipper this is Bill Cipher right? The Bill Cipher who tried to destroy the Journals? Why would he ever help a Pines?” She paused, confusion covering fury as she softly murmured, more to herself than her audience. “Why would he ever help us?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head, teeth silently tearing into his bottom lip. “But Mabel, we were dying. We would have died. You would hav-“ he broke off, the sentence ending in a half-broken sob as he pawed angrily at his eyes, as if to staunch a stream of invisible tears.

“What?”

He looked at her sadly, mournfully, as if he was staring at her coffin rather than his living, breathing, sister. “I was going to the forest and you wanted to come too, and I said yes.” He choked, eyes ripping from hers, mocha clouded with guilt. “I shouldn’t have. It should have been safe. I thought it would be safe. But we ran into a pack of wherewolves.” The words tumbled out of his mouth, so fast she struggled to separate each of the streams spewed.

Dipper’s distress grew, his form trembling more aggressively with each sentence managed, and she watched as he fought to stay upright, swaying violently, only to be steadied by Bill. She swallowed as the demon rubbed his back soothingly in circular motions. Almost as if he actually cared about the twin’s welfare. “You got knocked unconscious and I got one of them but there were so many. I couldn’t stop them all. I was getting ready to fight when he came along. Offered to help. Said he could save you. Said he could-”

“How much?” She demanded, interrupting abruptly as pieces began to fall into place. Pieces that she wanted to throw across the room. She didn’t want them to fit, but they ignored her pleas and melded together, solidifying in her unwilling mind. Dipper had made a deal with Bill. Dipper had made a deal with Bill to save her. 

“What?” he squeaked at the question, paling as he stammered.

“Deals always have a price. “ She hesitated, despite the ferocity of the first posing of the question, she was suddenly unsure whether she wanted to hear the answer. Bill had saved their lives. That wasn’t a code to a laptop or giving some formula. That was a miracle. Two miracles. The price had to have been just as hefty as the deed. What could Dipper have that Bill wanted so badly? She prayed it was the Journals. Sure they were important and some research would be lost, but they could always rewrite them. Her tongue felt like lead as she forced herself to elaborate. “What did you give him?”

He blanched, stammering quickly, though each word was weighted, as if forcing the answer. “He just wanted to stay at the Shack. He’s lived a long time on his own with no one to talk to." He paused, locking eyes with her briefly before flashing away, breaking under the intensity they found glaring back. "Mabes, he’s lonely.”

“You let Bill Cipher, the triangle who almost killed you and tried to trick our great uncle into destroying the world, into our home. Because he was lonely?” her voice jumped to a screech and Dipper shrank back, body wilting under the violence of the tone.

Dipper was supposed to be the smart one! You didn’t let demons into your home, not unless you had a death wish, and even then, you’d pick up a gun or a knife, or jump out of a window before summoning a minion of hell, or whatever Bill actually was. Which led her to the question

“Why aren’t we dead?”

“Huh?”

“Why aren’t we dead?” she repeated slowly, as if talking to a toddler. At the moment it certainly seemed like her brother had about as much common sense as one. _Really Dipper, Bill Cipher?_ _Bill Cipher?!_ She resisted the urge to throw her hands up and scream in his face. Why couldn’t her brother go one day without raising the dead, half killing himself or making a deal with their (im)mortal enemy?

Reigning in the urge to physically berate her brother for the sheer levels of stupid he was currently exhibiting, she continued, shuddering fingers twisting furiously at the ends of her sweater, as calm as you possibly could when you shared floor space with the demon that had haunted your family’s lives for over thirty years. “We’re Pines, Cipher swore he’d kill us. But we’re alive. All of us, even Ford, and we both know how much those guys want to kill each other. So why?”

“Part of the deal. He can’t harm us. I was smarter this time. Tried to word things better. No more sock puppets.” He cracked a small smile, laughing nervously, though the sound was forced. It left his lips in short, reluctant hacks that were about as convincing as one of Stan’s homemade exhibits.

Mabel made a point of ignoring it. Narrowing her eyes, she folded her arms and addressed the triangle. Er, ex-triangle, standing nonplussed in the centre of the room. “So what’s the tattoo for?”

“Insurance.” Bill smirked, looping one hand around Dipper and pulling him close. Bile rose in her throat at the gesture and continued to grow when Dipper allowed it, relaxing into the hold as if it were normal. Suddenly all the handsy moments Will had shared with Dipper weren’t so cute.

A fresh wave of self-hatred arose as she remembered her conversation with Dipper. God, she had encouraged them. Mabel swallowed, her mouth dry, suddenly thinking of all those wedding invitations she would have to throw away.

“So that sapling here doesn’t get any funny ideas of breaking our lovely arrangement. One look at this lil baby and Sixer will be pulling that memory gun on Sapling here pronto. Even I wouldn’t know if bro bro would ever recover from that amount of juice. I can’t imagine if your _Grunkle_ ” – he spat the term with disdain, venom dripping though she took little satisfaction from the obvious sore spot – “would care what state Pine Tree was left in so long as I was stopped. He always did play the solo hero so well.”

Mabel froze, ransacking her mind for a logical response and came up drawing squat. Because he was right. She loved Ford; they were family, it was a forced tradition, one which she adhered to, but he would do anything to stop Bill. Even if it meant totally erasing the mind of his great nephew. Ford couldn’t find out that the guy sharing the room directly above his head was the demon he’d sworn to kill. He could never find out. Because if he did, she would lose Bill. But she’d lose Dipper too.

She twisted her gaze away from Cipher who was grinning, annoyingly aware that he was right and he knew she knew he was. Which meant she wouldn’t be telling Ford. Or anyone.

“Mabel…” Dipper began, his arm reaching out as if to grasp her, but she ducked away, avoiding it. Rejected, he wrenched the hand back, raising it upwards to rake through his chocolate curls as she cut him off.

“I can’t.” she muttered softly, curls tumbling against her back as she turned her head. “I need to go.”

“Mabel, I’m sorry.” _Me too._ She almost cried as his voice floated after her, the words echoing in her ears as she fled. _I’m sorry for being so dumb. I’m sorry we fell apart. I’m sorry you had to make a deal with Bill to save me._

She felt her resolve harden. She flipped her phone out and punched in the number. Dipper had saved her. Now it was her turn to save him.

* * *

 

“I think we’ve got enough.” The blonde remarked dryly as Mabel appeared around the corner, huffing slightly as she returned, three bags buried in the folds of her arms.

“Not…enough…saving…the…world…” the brunette wheezed as her arms opened, the bags cascading eagerly out, dropping into a momentary freefall before landing on top of their previously snatched nine counterparts.

“I highly doubt you’ll be doing any world saving by causing a salt shortage.” Paz grumbled, lifting one eyebrow delicately as she eyed Mabel’s hurriedly receding back, biting back any further comments as she realised the girl would continue her self-deployed mission with or without her approval. Despite it being her credit card employed to pay for the rapidly growing contents of the metal cage. She growled at the appearance of a fifteenth bag.

“No. No more. Otherwise you’ll be walking back.”

“Aw c’mon Paz, don’t get… salty with me.” Mabel waggled her own brow before bursting into a fit of giggles at her own joke, though Paz remained unamused, one hand tucked beneath her jutting chin to signal her irritation.

She rolled her eyes, manicured nails leaving light crescent-shaped dents across the skin. “I hate you so much.”

“No you don’t!” The girl shouted happily as she planted one foot onto the cage’s lowest rung and pushed herself up and over the thinly woven bars, hauling herself down, next to the bagged condiments. She violently puffed, blowing hair out of her face, and giggled as she adjusted her stance, leaning into the back of the trolley’s insides and lifting her head to lock eyes with the heiress, whose own hardened gaze softened as they met.

They held the stare for a few moments, before both broke away, Paz choosing to focus on the shelf to her side, whilst Mabel’s eyes slid to her front, pupils widening with excitement. “Push me.” She suddenly exclaimed. Paz’s gaze didn’t falter from the poorly lined packs of Chipackerz sitting on the grimy shelf. Just flatly intoned. “No.”

“Push me.” Mabel wheedled, pulling her lips into a pout and flashing her lashes sixty miles an hour. “C’mon, do iiiiiiit.”

“No.” Paz repeated, grinding the heel of her stiletto into the floor to outline her refusal. “Not happening Mabs.”

“I AM THE QUEEN OF THE SUPERMARKET KNEEL BEFORE YOUR RULER YOU PEASANTS!” Mabel whooped as the trolley rounded another corner, the tiny wheels screeching in protest as they skidded, fighting to retain grip on the stained tiles.

“Really…really…hate..you…” Paz stuttered as she pushed, huffing but smiling as they arrived at the checkout, the attendant watching them through judgemental eyes though wisely chose to keep their mouth closed, settling their mouth into a strict, straight line and saying nothing as Paz dragged the cart and Mabel out through the automatic doors.

They passed the journey back to the Shack somewhat awkwardly – Mabel making small talk and forcing herself into her usual personality, aware that upon return she would be facing a demon, a brother and a very angry Grunkle (she maaaaaay not have told Stan she was going) and Paz listening intently, though with each jerkily taken bend their bodies were forced closer, until finally one hard shoulder had thrown Mabel’s form slamming into Pacifica’s, the event met by awkward coughs as limbs detangled and each girl resumed their singular posts upon the leather upholstery.

When the limo purred to a stop, Mabel slipped out, making it halfway up the drive before dropping her conquests and sprinting back, throwing herself through the opening and into a surprised Pacifica who met her body with a startled yelp, the sound cutting off midway as Mabel’s lips met the blonde’s, at first rigid, before they softened as she relaxed into the deepening kiss.

Mabel pulled away, panting slightly as she searched for oxygen. “See you later!” She hollered, once more exiting the vehicle Paz classed as a ‘car’, retracing her steps as a still shocked Pacifica stutteringly echoed her words.

She blushed as she noticed Dipper at the entrance, his body pushed against the open frame, his back leaning casually into the bite of the wood as he watched her, a wry smile playing at the edges of his quirked open lips, arms folded into his chest casually, the skin clothed in a fresh checked shirt that rigidly gripped flesh and ran up to his shoulders, Bill’s insurance lost beneath the fabric and lines of suggested muscle.

“So,” he chuckled, uncrossing his legs and detaching himself from the frame to resume full height, veiled face that had been lost to the shadow now cast into the light, the change illuminating sharpened eyes burnished with an achingly familiar curiosity.

His arms fell from their perch as he quickly dusted his palms, before he thumbed one roughly in her direction. “You and Paz huh? When did that happen?”

“After the party. She saved me from these two weirdos.”

“Weirdos in Gravity Falls? No!” he threw his hands to his mouth and gasped in mock surprise.

“I know, somehow someone is weirder than you!” She laughed, though the giggle died abruptly and when it did she awkwardly scratched at her arm, rearranging her stance on the lawn. “After that we uh, kissed. We’re still trying to work things out though.”

“I’m happy for you.” He smiled. A proper, genuine smile. The kind she had only seen when he was spouting off some random nerd junk or was describing the latest discovery for the Journal.

“So, you and Bill huh?” she echoed breezily, pasting a smile over the grimace that came with the words. “How did that happen?”

He shrugged, flipping his hands up and gestured wildly. “Bill can actually be…kind of nice.”

She raised an eyebrow. “The demon staying with us is…kind of nice?”

“Says the girl who only wanted to date a vampire when she was twelve.” He huffed

“This from the boy whose first kiss was with a merman.” She instantly shot back.

“I told you, it was CPR!” He spluttered, indignation staining the surfaces of his cheeks a burning red. “And I’m not the girl who mistook a bunch of gnomes for a guy and would have ended up married to them forever trapped in the woods if not for her weirdo brother.”

“Low blow bro.”

“Nah, that was perfectly high.”

She relaxed into the warm flow of nostalgia. It felt like them. Before those un-take-backable words. Before the split. Before everything changed.

Her smile now was as genuine as Dipper’s, and the two laughed, finding solace in the mirrored action of the past, both able to pretend that they’d never grown up. That it was still that first year in the Falls. Although reality soon shattered through.

Bill, de-yellowed and now in a simple black shirt paired with slacks that she recognised as cast offs of Dipper’s, slid into the hall and silently hooked an arm around Dipper’s waist, his eyes fixed on hers, sparkling with a sick kind of glee as his mouth twisted into a lazy smirk from its place behind the boy’s shoulder as he dragged her brother away.

* * *

Cage an animal and it would spend its entire existence resenting and attacking its captor. Allow an animal to walk into a cage of its volition, free it from its prison and the animal would trust its saviour. The grin on Bill’s face stretched as he remembered Dipper, broken, bloody and begging in his arms. Fuck the boy had looked good. Fuck, it had turned him on.

He moaned, unable to control himself and the area around his crotch tightened as the image burst back into his mind. His body jerked at the sudden stimulation and the blue orb paused, ceasing its exploration of his palm, continuing only after Bill drew in a deep breath and forced his body to still.

It pulsed hesitantly, then resumed its adventure. His eyes followed the pulsing sphere as its curiosity led it to the edge of the cliff running off of his fingers, though he pulled the digits together before it had the chance to properly taste gravity.

The shift in position revealed a spider crack running up the sphere’s surface, the rift pushed back together in a hazardous manner, as if having been hurriedly stitched back up.

He didn’t need nor want a lobotomised Pine Tree. And destroy all that fire? Sacrilege.

He’d told Dipper he’d removed his morality. It wasn’t needed. It had to go. He pursed his lips. Who had ever heard of a killer with morals? Hilarious but useless. So one switch flipped permanently later, and he never had to worry about the boy’s reluctant approach to murder again.

Just as he never had to worry about him pulling out a gun and trying to bite the dust early. Again. Healing the kid hurt, even if he’d never admit it. Demons weren’t supposed to be medics. Inflict, destroy, those were words he knew. Repair was a murky concept. Less familiar, mostly completely unknown.

Restarting hearts took power and, though Dipper hadn’t noticed, left him exhausted. Not that he could blame the kid. He had been almost incoherent, or well, gasping on the floor like a dying fish, for the majority of those sessions.  Bill had not been enamoured at the prospect of having to zap blown out brains back together.

A little push here, a little shove there. He had simply…tweaked a few things in the boy’s mind.

Thrown a couple of bricks into certain cogs. And cranked up others. Like less of the ‘family is everything’ shtick and more of the ‘Bill is amazing and always right and I love him’ stuff. Not enough to leave him brain dead, but enough to influence. Dipper wouldn’t blindly obey but he would be easily swayed, and left thinking that this was through his own will, allowing the boy to somewhat retain that beautiful pride and spirit he possessed.

Oh and the dreams. As a demon of his field he couldn’t be caught slacking off in that area. And watching Dipper try to hide his arousal in the mornings was absolutely hilarious.

He laughed, recalling how each morning Dipper would dash past, speeding off to the bathroom with his hands clasped over his legs, the sound of the door slamming so loud he had no doubt it reached even Sixer’s ears. A true feat, considering the man had caged himself in the place’s depths, refusing to surface in a show of insanity that Bill could fully appreciate. Give the man a six-fingered clap! Poor old Fordsy was finally falling off his rocker.

He gently allowed the orb to free itself from his caging fingers, watching fascinated as it leaped from his palm and into the air, hanging there for a moment, before its light flickered. It shuddered, freezing as an inky black curl of shadow slipped from the floor with a squelch and slid upwards, slamming itself around the orb’s walls, hungrily cracking the fragile confines that were quickly fading from a bright blue to a faded grey.

Bill snarled, flicking his fingers and the mass vanished with a heightened shriek, vaporised. He huffed, leaning forwards and pulled the sphere back to him, its colour slowly returning, though the attacked area remained an ugly marred whitewash. 

He ran a finger over its surface before pausing, gritting his teeth as if in pain, and slipped from the husked shell he’d been inhabiting, allowing his mind to flow into the pull of the space, following beckoning ghostly blue lines that stretched in front of him, their wires almost transparent, until he hit an unseen force that stubbornly prevented any further access.

He poked at it, curious, testing the strength before roughly slamming his entire being into it, howling in annoyance as it not only held, but pushed back, just as hard, and he was forced out of the Mindscape and back into the skinsuit.

He snarled again, eyes flashing red. Someone was trying to mess with his plans. And he’d be damned if he let them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooh plot. Mabel's on a mission and we got to properly check in with Bill, though not much has changed there. He's still a completely bonkers, possessive dick. 
> 
> Wrote this after the worst ferry ride ever - piece of advice folks, don't watch Titanic the day before you go out to sea. Probably not my best decision. Whoops.
> 
> Also, heads up, I'm not sure if a chapter will be up on Tuesday. Since on Monday I will be dragged out of my bed at the perfectly normal time of 5am to travel another 12 hours in a metal cage, with only the dying whispers of a laptop as my saviour, which means I probably won't be able to get it finished till Tuesday morning. 
> 
> Although there is a much larger possibility that I'll be passed out all of the day, so I apologise in advance if a chapter isn't up Tuesday, I'll try to get it up Wednesday, though no promises there either, one will definitely be up Thursday, along with my broken 100% true to update schedule. Sob. I hate missing deadlines but sometimes life decides to throw a curve ball. Or, you know, a brick in the shape of an alarm at 5am and a satnav narrating you to go down that road - yeah, that one, the one that says no entry. 
> 
> Ah well, we'll meet again, don't know when, but I promise we'll meet again, soon,  
> ~ MUI


	19. Demon Hunting for Dorks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rule 1: Don't trust kind ladies lost in the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it to the big 3. Damn dudes I fuckin love you all.
> 
> Hey look, chapter's up. Slightly later than usual, but up. On a totally unrelated side note, I'm going to crawl into my covers and pass out now.

_Dipper blinked and moved his arm. Or didn't. Apparently he wanted to remain perfectly still. Sure great, paralysis. Just what he needed. He attempted to stretch a toe. Nope. He continued to play like a popsicle and stayed frozen._ Real funny _, he thought bitterly. He wished he at least had the power to twist his mouth into a deep scowl. He tried, but of course, no such luck. His body continued its rebellion._ Come on out Bill. You’re a dick. Point proven.

_His eyes rolled in their sockets as they fought to discern his surroundings even through the frozen orbs fixed in front. He found only darkness, a throng of inky shadows that seemed to gather and grow as he focused his gaze, a pitch that despite his best efforts, he was unable to see through, and soon his vision was invaded by them completely, until he wasn’t sure whether his eyes were snapped open or clenched shut._

_His back was pressed against something hard, the surface hidden from his sight, but its touch cool and harsh against his barred flesh. Because Dipper didn’t even need to see to know that he was very much lacking in the clothes department._

_It didn’t feel entirely flat – it seemed to dip and rise in certain points, the small inclining slopes biting into the clefts of his shoulder blades. He guessed from the gritty texture it was stone of some sorts. The slab seemed to cut off just before his ankles, though rather than dangling, the limbs remained rigid, edges of toes peeking out, only just visible from under the point of his nose._

_He groaned mentally, though his mind was sluggish and weak to respond and even the accomplishment of that minor action left him virtually seeing stars, the supernova exploding at the backs of his eyelids. It was as if someone had physically looped a shackle to his brain and commanded he scale a distant hill lugging both the ball and chain in his unwilling ascent._

_He felt a weight press onto his chest; the mass of whatever it was poking the skin across his torso experimentally, pulling back, then returning after a slight pause, before the motion was repeated, only after moving further down._

_Oh. He coloured, and his breath quickened. Or stayed perfectly even. He sourly guessed that worked too and willed his mouth to open, even if it was only to loose the scream of indignation building at the back of his throat. So it was one of_   **those**   _._

_Which meant that the weight currently fondling him were fingers, and now that he forced himself to concentrate on the assaulting touches he could separate the prods into five separate sources, each only slightly apart from the other._

_His hypothesis was irrefutably proven as the weight shifted and now a full palm was pressed into him, the entirety of the hand that imprinted in both his flesh and mind worryingly close to his hips. Present enough only for him to register it before a withdrawal was lodged and his skin momentarily returned to as his sole possession once more._

_They continued that way – Dipper silently voicing his protests and the touches, trailing further and increasing in frequency and confidence. It was similar to most of the events that now occupied the time between collapsing in, and rising from, his bed._

_Except, abnormally Bill had yet to show his smug face. Abnormal because that showed restraint on the demon’s part, and going on evidence of the previous nightly escapades, restraint was a department he was sorely lacking, not just in, but entirely – each time Dipper had been painfully aware of the exact identity of his tormentor, if not from that unmistakable cackle to which even hyenas coloured in jealousy upon hearing, then from those cobalt eyes which pierced him, pressed close in the imitation of intimacy the demon enacted as his body curled into Dipper’s own._

_And the fingers searching across his flesh were different. Colder. Harsher. Clawed. And suddenly he wanted to scream for an entirely different reason as he realised with a horrified soundless gasp that whoever was touching him, was petting him, was currently practically fucking his chest with their fingers, wasn’t Bill._

_His panic seemed to amuse his unseen captor as a deep throaty chuckle emanated from the shadows surrounding him. "How quaint, the dog already desires its master."  A pause as the weight moved to between his legs. It was a very unwelcome change. Had Dipper been able he would have lashed out, jerking his knees up in the hopes to connect with his assailant, but he remained frozen, and was forced to endure as the sensation of the caresses intensified._

_"You are correct little pup. I am not Cipher." Its tone changed, morphing from something akin to bemusement to a long, violent hiss, the shadows around him gathering speed, agitated. But the mentioning of the word, fuck, Dipper growled, the mention of his **master** finally broke his unseen bonds._

_Dipper's body suddenly remembered its ownership and he screeched, howling and bucking as the hands descended, their owner’s voice dropping to an equally low purr as experimental touches became assured slashes that punctured the skin close to his manhood, sinking through heightened flesh with sickeningly clear pops._

_He shivered, mewling, all too aware of his vulnerability as this new antagonist appeared to lean down, face remaining wreathed in black, features veiled in dense night as words whispered silkily in his ear. "I am something so much better."_

In the hallway across from her brother’s restlessly tossing form, Mabel started awake, the girl roused as a floorboard to her left uttered a momentous groan in protest to its sudden increased burden, her blinking eyes quickly adjusting to the lack of light, sliding across the room and easily spotting the bulk standing casually amidst cast off sweaters, unnatural against the shaded forms of her usual, identified décor.

She deftly pushed her fingers into the space below her head, bolting upright and lunging towards the intruder, the lines surrounding her mouth contorting as she emitted a muted battle cry, fists uncurling to fling the handful of white powder into their face.

To which the demon, looking decidedly unburnt, simply laughed, a jarring sound that reminded her of glass shattering and echoed in her ears, only further highlighting her incompetence. Above the covers she found herself drawing the heated body of Waddles closer into her chest. She shivered as at the minor action, the series of cackles cut abruptly out. “You thought that would work? Really Stars, I’m insulted.” Bill drawled dryly; disdain splashing across his features as he lifted one hand and swiped the remnants of crystal specks from the front of his coat.

“I don’t know what you’re up to Cipher, but whatever it is, we’ll stop you. We’ve done it before, we’ll do it again.” Mabel hissed as loud as she dared, not wanting to bring Stan, or worse, Dipper, running. A Grunkle she could probably deal with, however Mabel was in no mood for handling a demon obsessed twin.

She found herself instinctively leaning back, using her legs to propel her body away as Bill moved forward, approaching the bed. She was forced to tilt her head up in order to continue to hold his gaze and her annoyance deepened as she tried not to think of the implications of the gesture, pushing it from her mind. Somehow, she knew Bill was doing the opposite, fully revelling in looming over his enemy and looking down upon them with an open air of superiority.

The demon sported a manic smile that wouldn’t have looked out of place in an insane asylum. He lifted a hand to his chest and inspected his nails, a bored expression fitting around the edges of his mouth, as if this was a conversation they had shared multiple times that she refused to drop. “Yes, you did a real good job of ‘stopping’ me before, didn’t you?” The inspected hand twisted briefly into air quotes as he spoke, sarcasm dripping from the nasal pitch.

Mabel ran a tired hand through her hair, eyes leaping from the mental institute escapee to the black box resting by her bedside that read 2.03 in red, assaulting broken lines. “What do you want Cipher?” She clung to the hope that the demon’s visit would at least be quick. Extremely painful – that was guaranteed from all encounters with the entity – but quick. Because unlike Dipper, Mabel was not a firm advocate in the belief of turning in only after the minimum of three in the morning.

Consequently, as she stared at Bill who unwaveringly met her gaze and left her feeling very much like a deer caught in the headlights of a particular car determined to run her down, Mabel just wanted him  _out_. Out of her room and preferably out of this dimension. Once again she cursed her brother’s folly. She didn’t know exactly what was going on, and she suspected that Dipper wanted that situation to continue, but she knew enough to know that her brother had royally fucked up.

“What I want,  ** _Pines_**  is,”  _To rule the world. To incinerate you. To incinerate you and then rule the world._  Mabel’s breath fluttered as her heart rate spiked, the organ loudly announcing its presence as it slammed against her flesh, readying herself for any answer – no matter how terrible or graphical – the demon could give.

Bill paused, olive tan turning a deep shade of beetroot as he finished lamely, petulantly mumbling as his gaze finally dropped from hers and fell to the floor, observing the darkened boards with an unnaturally high level of interest as his fingers twisted over themselves in an action she would describe as embarrassed, if not having the displeasure of knowing the form. Bill didn’t get embarrassed. Bill didn’t get any emotion other than cocky, angry or a strange mixture of the two. “Your help.”

“I’m sorry,” She fought to contain her laughter, hands slipping to her sides and pushing them in hard, as if to physically contain the bout of giggles threatening to rise from her gullet. “Did the all pretentious-“

“Powerful.” Bill interrupted, annoyance showing in the brisk correction. He straightened his form and regarded her with a chilling glare.

“ _Pretentious_ ,” Mabel emphasized, her voice rising as she repeated the word, ignoring the deep warning growl that emanated from the demon at the reutterance, confidence growing as she continued, “Demon just ask the measly mortal for help. I must be hearing things because that is not going to happen.” Her tone hardened as she ground the sentence out. “Not going to happen.” She repeated adamantly.

Bill's eyes narrowed and his body shifted to the sound of rustled silk. "Well then have fun sleeping, because I can guarantee you nightmares are coming that for once aren’t made by me.”

“Ooooh is the big bad dream demon scared of the dark?” Mabel taunted between huffs of laughter, unable to delay their escape any further and her form rocked back, stuttering against the board of the bed.

“You dumb meatsack.” Bill snarled, composure slipping as his calm façade finally dropped completely and she realised pissing the demon off, the demon that only her brother was protecting her from, her brother, whose presence was noticeably missing, may not be one of her best decisions. Nice one Mabel. She wondered if there would be enough of her body left to be buried.

She shrank back, waiting for pain. The longest minute Mabel had ever lived through passed, the girl curled awkwardly into herself, unable to control the tremors running down her arms. And then Mabel realised that holy sparkles she was still alive. “There is a reason you meatbags have long been terrified of its existence. Fears are founded and even myths are somewhat truths.” Bill muttered darkly.

She hesitantly allowed her body to unfurl, the shudders that plagued her moments before now receding as it became clearer that her family wouldn’t soon be organising a funeral. “So why can’t Dipper help you? He does that sort of thing all the time.”

Bill faced her, expression impassive as he addressed her condescendingly, reminding her of the tone that had fallen on her childish ears whenever an adult was attempting to explain something that was apparently obvious. “Toots, your brother is like the one nugget of gold in the shit pile that is this world. One whiff of Pine Tree and whatever this is, it’ll be coming for him.”

“So you’re telling me the bogeyman is real. And he’s after my brother. And that you need my help." She summarised, voice incredulous, before after a pause quickly adding, "Which will happen over my dead body.” 

“Well that can be quite easily arranged.” Bill’s eyes lit as his mouth beamed happily, before the curve dropped, resetting to a straight line as his shoulders drooped, a long huff of air pouring from above the closed lips. He rapped the front of his foot impatiently against the wooden tile.

“Shooting Star, I know you don’t like me, and trust me kid, that feeling’s mutual, but you have to listen here.” Bill’s body leaned elegantly down, pressing his face closer to hers. “My Sapling can’t go near that demon. So as much as we’re both going to hate this,” the pause indicated he was taking just as much enjoyment from the situation as she was. “We’re going to have to work together.”

Mabel stiffened, remembering her fury at the demon's possessive tone. “Dipper isn’t an object Bill. He isn’t ‘yours’. He doesn’t belong to you.” She tried to ignore the thought that if Bill did want to take her brother as his, nothing, not Mabel, not Ford, not even the Journals, would be able to stop him from doing so. She really didn't want to face that reality right now.

“It appears someone is painfully out of the loop.” She shivered, freezing as Bill purred the words sweetly, tone honeyed as they wrapped around her mind, begging for elaboration.  _What was that supposed to mean?_  Again, Mabel felt horribly unincluded, as if she had been handed an equation to solve with blanks placed at the key numbers.

Mabel exhaled.  _For Dipper. Just get through this for Dipper and for God’s sake girl, I know it’s tempting but don’t punch him in the middle of his perfect teeth._ “So what do you need me to do?”

“Atta meatbag. Knew you’d see past your delusions.” Bill finally pulled away, only slightly, but enough so that her entire vision wasn't taken up by the dream demon's lithe form.

 _So, so, tempting._  She briefly wondered if Dipper would believe her when she said she’d mistaken Bill for a burglar when explaining the freshly christened, throbbing purple blotch that would look so beautiful in the space below the demon’s eye.

“I need you to keep your brother in the Shack for the week. You can’t let him out of your sight. And you cannot let him enter the forest.” She flinched at the directions. Keeping Dipper inside was as easy as forcing the boy into a bath tub. Dipper lived in that forest, only inhabiting the Shack on work shifts or to collect meals, and those would be hurriedly gulped down to the slam of the door as his form retreated back across the lawn. But if Dipper was really in danger like Bill said... 

She groaned. Could she trust Cipher if it was over Dipper's safety? She knew the answer already. She'd do anything, trust anyone - even their family's age old enemy - if it meant keeping her brother alive. Pines protected their own. Imparting the way they did that wasn't necessary.

“So,” Bill purred cheerily, as if sensing she had reached a decision, lazily stretching an arm out and opening his palm, fingers fluttering expectantly when she simply stared at the invitation, easily able to imagine cerulean flames illuminating the tan. “Truce?”

“Truce.” Mabel agreed, reluctantly taking the offered hand, recoiling at the sudden flow of electricity that met her skin upon the contact with Bill’s. She pushed aside the growing feeling of wrongness that had taken up residence in her stomach and forced a weary smile. “Now get the hell out of my room before I tell Waddles that Bill Cipher is in fact a big chewy banana.”  

* * *

Dipper knew something was up when he walked into the kitchen and found Mabel and Bill leaning their backs casually into the worktop counter, elbows propped against the surface. One not threatening to erase the neighbour from existence, the other not listing the many painful deaths the companion could experience, but pressed together, far too close for his comfort, talking civilly.

“Oh God, messed up! Isn’t that like cannibalism or something?” Mabel yelped as Bill deftly scooped another triangle shaped pile from the packet bunched tightly in his hand, his body shaking to accommodate the low snicker originating from her outburst which soon morphed into a deep hum of appreciation as his fingers rammed into his mouth, messily stuffing the stack inside.   

“Can’t help it if I’m delicious toots,” Bill grinned widely, lips curving open to reveal the full horror of the salted triangle guts sticking from sharpened teeth. “Besides, you’re lecturing a demon on cannibalism.”

Mabel shook her head. “You’re disgusting, you know that right?”

Bill brightened, preening at the compliment, before happily chirping back. “And you’re an annoyance that would be so much more tolerable without a head.”

Okay, so they were talking somewhat civilly. Only one death threat in the conversation and it had come from the demon. That was practically exchanging pleasantries. He watched them suspiciously, thoroughly weirded out. What was weirder was that Mabel, despite knowing his true identity, was still hanging around Bill like a lovesick puppy.

Sure, one that wanted to murder its owner, but a lovesick puppy nonetheless. Dipper had to fight the urge to rip her away every time he saw the pair together. The last thing they needed was  _two_  Pines infatuated with demons. Not that he was infatuated with Bill. Because he wasn’t. He was just taking a standing point as a man of scientist when given the opportunity to closely observe the demon’s powers. Totally not infatuated. He briefly paused to applaud his mentality. There, that sounded right. Right?

He groaned, hit by the sudden need for fresh air. A need that slammed its full weight into him with the roar and strength of a freight train.

He hadn’t left the Shack in days. Each time he set foot outside his major haunts of his room, the lounge or kitchen, or went anywhere near the door he would find himself either bowled over by an overly enthusiastic twin sister or ordered to heel by the residing demon. Anytime he had voiced plans he had been met with hurried nopes and strangled promises of interactions, then been dragged away to face his arranged fate.

He angrily rubbed remnants of yellowed grit from his eyes and huffed. Why the hell were there so many Disney movies? They were all the same, cute girl, cute animal sidekick, cute guy, annoyingly catchy, or just plain annoying, songs. He’d started growing grouchy after Mabel slipped the fifth disk in and cheerily pressed play on a tv remote at which point he was seriously considering throwing out the window.

“Mornin Dip.” Mabel ceased whatever it was she had been doing with Bill, pushing herself off the counter and thankfully placing herself further from the demon, though not as far as he’d wanted, as she straightened, taut form snapping back into place. Her eyes shifted to the side nervously when he muttered a greeting back. “Stan said we could have the day off. Want to do some dumb nerd stuff?”

“Sorry Mabs, promised Wendy I’d meet up with her.” Dipper called over his shoulder as he practically ran through the room in his hurry to put as much distance between his shaking legs and the pair, one hand resting in the space in front of his mouth, fighting the urge to yawn and smiled at the name.

Wendy. The girl had always run wild, she was an adventurer, one not even Gravity Falls could tie down. Of the group of teens he had used to lick boots to impress, Wendy had been the sole escapist, Robbie settling into his parents’ business, now he guessed, settled into the ground, Thompson still at home, Tambry getting a job bussing tables at the Diner, Nate and Lee doing well, whatever they did. But the young Cordoroy had done what none thought possible and made it to college in Portland.

She had got out. He hadn’t, but he’d never held it against her. Sure, she’d shot him down when he was younger, but the ending of the obsession allowed the two to become closer, each forming a deep respect for the other, her for Dipper’s smarts, and he for Wendy’s total badassery. Even now he would say she was the closest he had to a friend. So for once he was actually looking forward to social interaction with one from his species.

“Pine Tree," He froze, body midway through the door and slowly spun round, taking his time to examine each groove in the wood and crack across the cupboards seen in his reluctant journey to face the speaker. "Why don’t we watch that dumb show? The one they stage and that you wrote a letter to, asking them to investigate Gravity Falls when you were fifteen?”

Dipper coloured as his body froze, locking in place with the spreading flush presently mottling his once paled skin. He laughed awkwardly. “Your stalker levels are showing Bill. And once again, no, meeting Wendy. She’s only back from college for the week.”

“Pine Tree,” Bill muttered warningly, abandoning the counter as he approached the boy, closing the distance in three easy strides . He pushed his face roughly into the spluttering teen’s. “You’re staying here with your sister. And that is an order.”

Indignation reared up at the words, too loud to be ignored. He wouldn't be commanded like some dog and his limbs quickly thawed as rage simmered, boiling the chill away, his voice snapping dangerously. "No Bill, I’m not. I have a life without you. Not a very good one, but a life. And in that life I’m meeting Wendy.”

“C’mon Dip,” Mabel piped up from across the room, her upbeat tone unable to hide the forcedness of the words pushed from her lips. “We can play Monopoly. You can even be the doggy.” She wheedled, tone imploring him to stay.

Something was definitely going on. Mabel was always the dog. It was the unspoken rule whenever the family actually dared to sit down and play the board game. It had become a rarity after his twin insisted on attempting it on a family bonding day. Ford and he had watched, reluctant but resigned to the chaos, as Mabel had ignored the rules in favour of piling counters atop properties to create pretty patterns and Stan, claiming the position of banker, had robbed the bank, leaving the set’s plastic box of coffers empty of its flimsy currency, before exiting the game after landing in jail, or as he’d put it ‘running from the fuzz’.

“Okay that is it!” Dipper screeched, reaching the conclusion that something was indeed going on that the two were hiding from him. Why else would they be so desperate for him not to leave the Shack? Why else had he been confined inside for the past week? “What the fuck is going on with you two and why the hell am I not allowed to go outside?”

“Because it’s safe in here kid.” Bill murmured softly, his eyes fixing on the teen locked in mid-eruption.

“I’m not a kid.” Dipper spat angrily, his breath growing ragged as he flared up, incensed. “I’m eighteen. Technically an adult. And I can look after myself, Bill.”

“Maybe he’s right Dip, even Stan’s scared.” Mabel halfheartedly contributed, her form withering as she shrank backwards in a hopeful but useless attempt to make her form disappear.

“Stan’s just paranoid.” Dipper snarled, before turning and rounding on his sibling, fury and betrayal marring the features of his face as he couldn’t help but recall a similar situation when she had thrown his opinion away in favour of another stranger. “And you?" He hissed. "You’re with him?”

“Please bro bro. just stay inside where it’s safe.” Mabel pleaded, her doe eyes widening with the desperation that accompanied the plea.

“First Ford, then Stan. Now you two? Why can’t anyone ever see that I’m not a dumb twelve year old who needs supervising all the time?” Dipper growled, twisting away from Bill and storming out, wrenching the door open and disappearing angrily through the frame, feet slamming as they pounded down steps and onto the ground.

“Dipper!”

“Pine Tree!”

Dipper ignored the voices calling after him, his feet kicking up dust as he sprinted across parched ground and ducked into the obscurity of the treeline, refusing to stop until a gash in the side of his stomach had opened and stretched, leaving him panting for breath as with each step the world blurred and any sense dissolved into searing agony.

Unable to continue, he opted to instead unleash the fury building beneath his skin upon the nearest victim, wincing as knuckle connected with bark, yowling as the pain rocketed through his senses, the sensation riding above the wave of red that had previously clouded his vision.  

“Stupid Mabel…” He, muttered under his breath before returning to his assault of the inanimate giant blocking his path. “Stupid Bill…” The tree shook and freed leaves fell softly onto his head, the greenery nestling softly into his curls. “I can…”  **Thwack** “look after…”  **Thwack** “myself…”

He broke off, rubbing the reddened area gently, wincing at the resulting sting that sang back as his fingers gently skimmed across the tops of the agitated skin.

Outlet found and successfully used, his rage subsided and he flipped his body, placing his back against the bark he had previously been beating into submission, allowing his limbs to settle into a relaxed state, muscles numbing as he breathed deeply, counting to ten before allowing the air to escape his clenched lungs, upon reaching the targeted number opening his mouth and once more capturing and holding the mix of chemical gases.  

“Oh thank God! Civilisation!”

His head snapped up at the voice, and he watched as a woman stumbled out from behind the cluster of bushes in front of him. Her face was clearly distressed and he blushed profusely when he saw that the clothes hugging her form had tears in some extremely awkward places, leaving little of the features running across her body to be imagined.

“I thought I was going to die.” She sobbed, throwing herself against his shoulder and weeping in a soft succession of half-hiccups. He cleared his throat as his body moved to comfort her. Eyes hidden behind a shuddering wall of ebony that fell loosely over hollowed cheeks and stuck to the edges of forced open, gasping lips, she looked near to hyperventilating.

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe now.” He mumbled, awkwardly placing his hand on the small her back and giving it what he hoped was a reassuring tap. Unfortunately for the boy, he had inherited Stan’s inabilities when it came to handling the emotions of others. “What, er, exactly happened?” he inquired, feeling her body stiffen in its position atop him.

“T-there w-a-as a m-monster.” Her lower lip trembled. “I ra-a-an, a-a-a-and now I don’t know w-w-here I am,” the sobs descended into an agonised screech as she clung to him, tightening her grip, fingers desperately scrabbling into his flesh.

“Wh-at a-about you, w-why are you h-here?” she moaned and he glanced down at his feet at the question.

“I had this fight.” He confessed slowly, not really wanting to remember what exactly had led him to where he currently was. “Things got, heated. The guy was a jerk and my sister sided with him. So I er, ran into the forest.” He scratched uselessly at the side of his ear with his free hand. God when he said it aloud he sounded so immature. She probably thought he was a kid too.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I know how important family is.” She sounded like she genuinely did too. “You must be lonely.” She continued, and he realised with a harsh pang, he was. Horribly so. To the point where Dipper would do anything to simply call the person in his company friend. “Ye-ah.” His voice cracked, and he cringed, but she didn’t laugh. Just raised her hand to his face and caressed it gently.

“Do you want to be lonely?” she whispered, fingers tracing the outlines of the constellation even though it remained hidden by the russet curls chaotically framing his face.

“No.” He found himself arching into the contact, relaxing as hands rose and fell in their following of the lines, each dot passed over with such care it was an almost reverent ritual.

“Do you want to  _hurt_?” He yelped as at the word, her nails broke the surface of his skin, the screech a short burst before the touch regained its gentleness, the exploration of his forehead over, falling to catch one of his cheeks and bring it closer to her own, forcing his head to the side, then dropping away, though even then it retained its place.

“No.”He muttered, sulkily directing a loose stone into the space a metre away with the front of his sneaker.

“They’ll keep hurting you.” She murmured, brushing a stray hair from in front of his eye. “They want you gone. They never wanted you around.”

He froze at the words. They hurt so much. Punctured his insides and left him gasping for breath. Because he knew she was right. They never wanted him. Even Bill wanted him gone. His brow furrowed as he forced concentration, struggling to make sense of anything as his thoughts were dragged through slimy muck.

“Who are you?”

“A friend.”

He nodded. That made sense. Kind lady out in the woods. Lost kind ladies out in the woods were always friendly. And Mabel always said that strangers were just friends you hadn’t met yet. He mewled and batted the thought away. He didn’t want to think about Mabel right now. Not Mabel. Not Bill. Not anyone who treated him like he was some helpless infant who needed babying so as to prevent him from wandering off into danger.

“Who are you?” she echoed his words playfully, but from her mouth they sounded better. Right. As if they belonged to the supple lips that had easily freed them.

“Dipper.” He answered numbly, preparing himself for the taunts. She hadn't laughed at the crack, but surely she would at his dumb name. But unexpectedly she smiled and he found himself grinning back, his mouth pushed upwards to an almost stupid degree. God, she had such a pretty smile. 

“You don’t have to be lonely Dipper.” Her face was inches from his now. And he found himself staring, caught by the want to pull back that wall and see those eyes gaze back into his.

“They won’t hurt you Dipper.” He found himself bobbing his head along in agreement with her. He loved the way she said his name. Like she actually cared about him. Like he was an adult. Like she wasn’t talking to some snot nosed brat. “Just come with me, Mason. You’ll be happy.” She promised, a promise that he knew she meant. She could actually make him happy. He deserved that, didn’t he? To be happy. Away from Bill. Away from his family.

“My name’s not…” He trailed off, suddenly confused, mouth drying as his mind numbed. He hadn’t told her that name. Or maybe he had. He fought to find the memory, but it eluded him, flying away on the breeze and he jumped after it, but it fell off a cliff, away from his reaching fingers and he was pulled gently up by soothing tendrils, soaring into the sky.

Something at the back of his mind sleepily muttered a warning. Come with her? She was supposed to be lost! And then, through his hazy mind, he realised that they’d been talking for far too long and he didn’t even know her name. A million possible responses flew through his head.  _I really should get back to Bill before he barbecues my sister. My family are probably starting to worry. The forest is dangerous and I’ve never met you before._

But instead he found himself taking her hand and whispering brokenly. “Okay.” And smiled as his body soared further, mind falling into the haze completely, aware only of the surprisingly chilling grip of the fingers closed around his own as she pulled him away from the foot of the tree and led him deeper into the shadows that hungrily lapped at his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever reach that point in a road trip where you’re eyeing the door after realising your laptop is dead and you’re not even halfway, and weighing up the pros and cons of simply pulling the latch and leaping out, rolling a couple of metres, the force of the tarmac flaying your skin to the bone, leaving half your face hanging off as you lie limply in the middle of the road next to the latest offering to the run-over animal god, being that all annoying pest that causes the massive gridlock sixty miles back that causes all commuters to be four hours late to work? 
> 
> No? Me neither. Huh. Guess we got that in common then.
> 
> On a lighter note, cookies for anyone able to guess exactly what nabbed Dip Dip. Imaginary cookies because I look at my bank account and cry. Real cookies be some expensive fancy bullshit. 
> 
> Hee. See you all Thursday where we can all go jump off that cliff I just walked to the edge of, poked with my foot, looked at the drop and said aw hell naw to.  
> ~ MUI


	20. Suck It, Succubus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reasons why you shouldn't piss off a Bill Cipher. 
> 
> Cuz if you do you'd better start running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we return to the murky world of 2am writing with a stack of sugar and steady supply of caffeine as support. Do I regret anything? Hell no, there's nothing better than happily munching through a box of Malteasers as you hit that mental high that comes with finally getting the wording for a particular scene right.

A week. Mabel wanted to cry. She had tolerated Cipher for a week, followed both him and his directions in the day and put up with him slipping into her bedroom at god knows when in the morning, sat with legs pulled up to her chest and back pressed roughly to the wall as she listened without interruption, despite the irritation the secret meetings always brought flaring up and begging for release, to the demon, as high nasal tones berated her stupidity at the ways she’d kept Dipper from walking out the front door, all while failing to mention exactly what is was she was protecting her twin from.

Despite her constant badgering for more, Mabel had been given all the useful information she apparently needed, the entirety of the lengthy details consisting purely of outside – bad, inside – good.

To which she’d been forced to reluctantly place her trust in Bill (a statement that even now both terrified and horrified her as she continued to question her sanity over the decision), convincing herself this was for Dipper’s sake, and dragged her unwilling brother through hurriedly organised craft sessions and Disney movie marathons, leading him as instructed, away from the outside and confining him in the rundown Shack for the best part of seven days. Managing to hold him there and distract him from the suspicions which, Dipper being a prime example of the bundle of paranoia that seemed to infect anyone of the Pines’ name, had quickly grown.

Caught meetings in corridors and overheard snatches of conversations had served only to fuel the doubt taking root as curiously searching gazes shifted to analysing eyes that sized her up with betrayal, and suspicion turned to theory which in turn moved briskly onto statement as more evidence of there being a hidden objective in the activities gathered.

But even then she’d managed. Managed to distract him long enough for his desire to leave the claustrophobic walls and ragged lighting fixtures behind in favour of damp morning dew and heady scents of pine needles to taper and fade into the next day, where once more she and Bill would unite in their uneasy, awkward alliance and commence the daily ritual of pulling the male twin’s thoughts from the cracked door handle leading to a danger he didn’t even know existed.

Until she hadn’t.

Until they’d both messed up and now Dipper was gone, disappearing angrily into the very forest they were currently frantically searching through, echoing shouts of ‘Dipper’ and ‘Pine Tree’ playing like a scratched record stuck on a particular spot through a rusted gramophone amid the sounds of hurried steps against the softened forest floor as the two scoured their earthen surroundings for any sign of the wayward teen.

Correction, the very forest Mabel was searching through. Bill? Mabel instinctively flinched as the umpteenth (She’d lost track of exactly how many had burst into existence somewhere around the ninth) jet of cerulean flame erupted, and another casualty of nature, the tree looming two metres from her front, hastily decided to retire from life. Well, Bill was incinerating.

She silently sent up an apology to the inhabitants of each fresh ashen corpse, hoping that the branches had been long cleared at their arrival, attempting to convince herself of this as fact as they progressed, Bill striding purposefully in a straight line, vaporising any obstacle stupid enough to get in his way without so much as a backwards glance, and Mabel hurrying after, her sneakers slipping in their struggled grips as she stumbled over the wake of destruction, clearing the improvised obstacle course of stuck out roots and felled branches in awkward, laboured movements.

Pricks of tears gathered at the edges of her eyes which sweater sleeves brusquely snatched away. She pushed the urge to break down and disappear into Sweatertown away with the discarded watery dollops. Had it been her missing, Dipper wouldn’t immediately give into despair and fling himself on the floor like a bawling infant. Dipper would look at the situation and form a plan, using his big nerdy brain to fall back to logic and find a way to beat whichever big bad monster he was facing that time.

But it was Mabel who was found, and Dipper who was lost. Dipper who was hurting. Dipper who was hurting and it was her fault. She may not be the smart twin and her own knowledge of handling the town’s supernatural residents was a sharp but short blink in comparison to Dipper’s lengthy years, but she’d be damned if she just left her brother to die.

The enraged growls clawing from the demon in front’s throat escalated into a full blown screech that ripped through her nerves, shredding any semblance of her own calm, and sending any wildlife that had been dumb enough to stick around hiking it into the distance as fast as hind legs could carry, the sudden increased outburst telling her that their role as the sole searchers for the sibling had ceased.

With a new determination, Mabel urged her struggling body to move faster, aching legs to jump higher. It had become a race, one with an unknown opponent, but nevertheless, one that she couldn’t afford to lose. And as yet another tree was lost from the forest, any commentary from the serial pine murderer painfully absent, a breach of an incessantly annoying character trait that yet again highlighted the extent of fury contained within the offending form seething within arm’s reach; she just hoped they found Dipper first.

That hope was quickly dashed as they not so much crossed but barrelled forcefully over an invisible line, the previous apprehension brought on by the closeness of wooden giants hemming them in suddenly rising to full blown terror as branches widened and coats of leaves darkened, their colour lost to an unsettling purplish black that coated bark like sticky tar. The shadows that had playfully tugged at her feet as they’d followed the lightened paths running through the undergrowth they had first crashed through now gripped and yanked her ankles down with needle-like fingers in a vicious effort to topple her stilled form. Her feet told her in quite clear terms to turn around and ‘move it or lose it’ in the other direction. Every instinct in Mabel’s body screamed that she should not be where she was as her thoughts dissolved into an endless, hardly elaborate but adequately descriptive mantra of _bad bad bad._

Mabel’s mouth fell open and she could practically hear Bill’s gleeful comparison of her to a half-paralysed fish echo in her ears as she stuttered, words forming but tongue rebelling in adamant refusal, any coherent use of the English language falling to a series of stammering, inelegant squeaks as upon witnessing the scene laid before her, her brain decided to call it quits and promptly jumped ship.

She waited expectantly for the easy jibe, then realised that beside her, Cipher was every part as mute as she was.

“I believe the words you are looking for are ‘oh no’.” the Demon reclining leisurely in the middle of a pulsing pool of shadow to the front of her murmured scornfully, cradling Dipper’s collapsed body in her arms.

“Oh no,” Mabel bleated, echoing the words weakly as she finally found her voice and forced her mind out of the jumbled mess it had descended unwillingly into and pushed thoughts back into their rightful orders. Her shoulders sank and she moaned at the sight of her brother, “ _Dipper_.”

At first from his slumped form she thought he was unconscious but that theory was quickly discarded as upon further glances she found his eyes were open – blown wide with barely any iris to be seen, pupils unfocused and glazed. His hair clung stickily to his scalp, though parts of it had been swiped away to reveal the seven points of the constellation bearing his adopted name. His cheeks were stained a rusting scarlet that deepened further as rough, desperate pants wracked his body, the heaves spouting from puckered lips that trembled as each forced their way through, rising into the freedom of open air in visible miniature fogs that danced in front of the curving, increasingly darkening swollen lines.

The baggy hoodie he had been wearing upon his hurried department from the Shack was gone, and she suspected unlikely to ever be found, the orange of the remaining loose tee dripping from his chest a stark contrast to the whitened skin peeking out from beneath the vibrantly coloured folds.

He was tethered in place by two slender arms – though she hardly doubted that the supple limbs wouldn’t be adequately strong enough in their defence of their quarry – the flesh running up to meld seamlessly with an equally slender neck which she followed with her eyes to meet a sharpened jawline, a further glance upwards revealing reddened lips that were far too easily able to associate with blood for comfort, set against a whitened complexion offset by a sheen of raven ebony that reminded her sharply of a Victorian era porcelain doll she had once stubbornly set her heart on in younger years.

Demon was a definite – if the bat-like wings spouting from the sculpted shoulder blades, membrane closely resembling pulled black cowhide, weren’t a dead giveaway then the eyes were the clincher; the burning orbs that hardly bothered to lift from her brother’s crumpled chest to meet the intruders were utterly devoid of humanity.

“He is rather beautiful, is he not?” Reddened lips parted as the demoness murmured so gently Mabel would have easily mistaken the words to be the monster’s thoughts mused aloud, rather than directed to the newly arrived company, had it not been for the brief, almost missed tilt of the head upwards to lock eyes with the silenced form of Bill visible in her peripherals, the demon entirely quiet save for the sharp intakes of breath that escaped as the lines of his brow twitched and knitted together, angry stretches of blue popping as bubbling veins scribbled across the tanned canvas.

“A soul teetering between light and dark, and One of the Wheel too.” A dip of the head and the demoness’s gaze returned to fall solely on the youth clutched eagerly to her chest. She purred appreciatively, eyes roaming hungrily across the tightened flesh held in her grasp. “So close to falling. Just a little pu~ush. I see why you like your whelp so much, Cipher.” A peal of condescending laughter accompanied the darkly emphasised name, and Mabel was sure she detected a hint of something, (fear?) lying beneath the arrogance she had come to expect from every member of the supernatural community that wanted her dead.

“I think I’ll keep him, he tastes positively divine and I do so appreciate his…assets.”

Mabel felt the painful pull of her face stretching when her eyes widened, brow jumping up with disgust as a thin, serpentine tongue slid out and caressed a long strip along the entirety of Dipper’s neck. One snaring limb shifted out of its trap to travel across his chest, clawed hand effortlessly tearing the clothes in its path, the reveal of welted bite marks puckered in bruised patches against toned skin eliciting a feral snarl from Bill’s direction.

Dipper moaned softly at the action, subconsciously leaning into his captor. “Such a good boy,” She cooed, puncturing her nails into his torso in a downwards spiral with each syllable. “He was so scared of what was happening, so lonely, so innocent in his feelings. And you,” her head snapped fully up now, turning to face the pair accusingly. “You left him all alone, completely unguarded, ripe for the **plucking** ,” Dipper howled as her manicured talons drove in deeper, easily slicing through already darkened flesh; fingers splashed a rich crimson when they withdrew, slipping from the insides of skin to  reverently pet the area around the fresh gashes. “Hush hush,” she leaned and whispered in his ear and the boy instantly stilled, to Mabel’s horror, a dreamy dazed smile forming over the expression of pain previously etched deeply in ragged lines across his face.

She stiffened. Fear and panic forgotten as rage washed all other emotion away. This bitch was hurting her brother. And though they may not be as close as they had once been. Though they may hardly speak and when they did it may be awkward and forced and leave both of them feeling only self-hatred. But no one hurt her brother.

“Get your fucking face off my bro-bro!” Mabel screeched,  ignoring the logical part of her mind (never had been big on listening to that), and charged forward, trying not to think of all the ways this could go horribly wrong and leave her very, very dead. “Suck on that, you, you…. you Succubus!” Mabel paused, blustering before triumphantly arriving at the word and throwing the insult, descending into a curdling battle cry, whooping loudly as she directed the can of pepper spray she’d been forced to carry at all times (thank you Grunkle Stan and long history of unhealthy family paranoia) at the demon’s face. Only her brother, out of all the differing types of residents and minions of Hell, of all the possible areas of expertise, would be able to attract a sex demon.

Apparently pepper spray was more effective against demons than salt, or maybe it was because the majority of the spray hit full on in the eye, (a pain Mabel could empathise with after she’d done something similar to it to herself with a spray paint can. Multiple times) Because the she-demon howled, and Mabel winced as hands retracted from their claim to rise to the source of suffering, dropping her brother who landed with a none-so-gentle crash, his usual bout of misfortune rearing its ugly metaphorical head as Dipper’s own fleshy counterpart smashed into a boulder, the boy rolling off the unexpected surface, going down like a ragdoll and face planting the earth, landing in an undignified heap and leaving a tell-tale line of red smeared, easily noticeable against the grey stone face of his previous temporary resting place.

Recovering from the attack but looking seriously pissed, the succubus howled, releasing a flurry of insults in a variety of languages that Mabel didn’t recognise but didn’t need to know to roughly translate into rushed slurs of ‘Imma kill you, you fucking bitch.’

Still with one hand slapped to her furiously swelling eye, the demon reached for Dipper, fingers searching with a renewed sense of hysteria as they grasped for the solid form only to fall through thin air. Just as confused at her brother’s sudden disappearing act, Mabel turned and found his unconscious form now splayed in Bill’s arms, the bundle of limbs contained in a bridal-style grip held possessively against the front of the dapper amber tailcoat that rose and fell with Bill’s haggard breaths.

“Eheh,” The succubus attempted a smile, an effort that failed and only resulted in leaving its host appearing even more terrified as fearful eyes skittishly forced themselves to meet Bill’s. One hand rose to tug gently at the skin running across its neck. “No hard feelings right?” To which Bill replied with a lazy smirk and a manic if slightly strained giggle as blue flames sped in lines across, then erupted out of, the ground, tendrils twisting together and sealing in place to form a fiery cage as they rose to encase the succubus huddled in the middle, who screeched and quickly snapped its hands back to its sides to try and escape the worst of the wrath of the smouldering bars.

“No hard feelings,” Bill chimed breezily, mirroring the demoness’s smile which brought a small flush of hope to the cowering succubus’s cheeks, before the smile dropped off Bill’s face, the erased grin replaced by a wickedly thin, painfully pronounced jagged line set against elongated canines which gnashed sharply together, radiating danger. “Except you laid your hands on my **property**. Dared to sully what I have already **claimed**. And tried to take what is **mine**.” His voice deepened in tone and power with each listed offence, lightly dusted gold form shading to a burning explosion of the ore, trembling as it struggled to contain the tremors erupting from the furious demon.

A horrendous gurgle emanated from the insides of the cage of fire as Bill’s highly biased trial came to a rapid end and verdict reached, the judgement commenced; the box beginning to shrink down around the now constantly screaming being trapped inside, warped bars of flames pressing into skin and peeling it off like strips of dead bark in a symphony of pain to the garbled chorus of “ImsorryImsorryImsorry”.

She felt a flash of sympathy for the demoness, its agony apparent. And Mabel, hating seeing any creature suffer, even the monster that had tried to kidnap her own brother, found herself (probably stupidly, _definitely stupidly_ ) trying to save it. “Bill! Stop! They’ve had enough you don’t need to-“her pleas cut off abruptly as her breath caught, words once more failing in her throat.

Mabel had seen Bill mad before, heck, most of their encounters prior to the year had mainly featured the triangle, pulsing red and shape enlarged with rage as it raved over ruined plans and threatened their lives. But this was Bill seriously pissed and she found herself shrinking back, eyes skittering away, unable to continue to watch the look of pure, unbridled fury that had taken hold of the bent personality and twisted sadistic pupils into a thick black paste that observed the carnage, unblinkingly watching, darkened glints sporting a seething expression, to the sounds of that signature cackle.   

“If I can’t have him then neither shall you!” Any sympathy Mabel had dredged up for the creature quickly fled as the succubus screeched, mouth widening into a knowing smirk before the lips contorted, keeping rhythm with the spasms gripping its body as it fell into a series of chants, spewing words that Mabel vaguely recognised from past evenings with an excited Dipper spent pouring over the Journal as the black light gripped tightly in his hand uncovered yet another trail of hurriedly scrawled letters previously hidden in the pages, as Latin.

“ ** _Flectendum animum intenderunt animam, et corpus meum comprimerent eum in novissimo die.”_**

 _Whu-oh that cannot be good._ Mabel’s thoughts caved once more into chaos as sloping glyphs sparked into existence at the words, the brightly shining marks running up Dipper’s arms then spreading, leaping from part to part, the ancient scripture casting his entire body into an unnatural purple shine before the glowing ink leeched into the skin, fading away into the seemingly unaffected flesh.

Their creator howled as the box closed in further, now too tight to be unable to avoid the wreaths of flame which spat and hissed, the insides growing smaller and smaller until they were completely compressed and the succubus held in the trap wailed, the yowls snapping off as fire engulfed the speaker, who was promptly and she guessed incredibly painfully, cremated.  

“Well, er, that was easy.” Mabel muttered hollowly, curbing the admonitions of Bill's unorthodox solution to the problem that threatened to leap from her mouth, not wanting to provoke the demon while he was still holding her twin. She scratched the side of her head and tried to ignore the fact that she had just witnessed the frying of a living creature. One that had totally deserved everything it had got, but still, the principal was there. Murder was still wrong and a failed abduction didn't make it any better. “Now let’s get bro bro back to the Shack before Stan or worse, Ford notices we’re gone.” Now that was a conversation she was dreading. Mabel was pretty sure they’d broken just about every rule Stan had set and she was not looking forward to giving an explanation as to exactly why Dipper needed stitches for his head and she needed a fresh can of mace. It would be hard enough to weasel out of with a normal parent, but two paranoid Pines running to catch the crazy train? Nope, not going there.

She coughed awkwardly, surprised when Bill didn’t respond, and looked up to find him staring down at her brother, horrified. “Um, Bill?” She called, questioningly. “Dipper’s okay. We saved him from the bad guy.”

“No Shooting Star.” Bill murmured brokenly as he morosely pressed a hand to Dipper’s forehead, pausing on the birthmark, before slapping her brother full in the face, the sharp singing crack of impact and Mabel’s reacting scream stating her condemning of the attack, resounding round the area.

Mabel waited for Dipper to splutter and angrily yell at the demon, or sit up and hit him back, loudly exclaiming the string of usual swears. Or do anything in response. But he didn’t. Just continued to lie there in Bill’s arms like a broken doll and she found herself sprinting over to him, legs wobbling as they unsteadily carried her to the duo, any sense of victory slipping as she began to notice exactly how laboured Dipper’s frighteningly little breaths had become.

“What are you doing?” She clamoured angrily, heart plummeting as she noted the previously blurred eyes now snapped shut. “Zap him back with your powers!”

“ _Zap him back with your powers!_ ” Bill mimicked, fumingly parroting the words back, spitting each out scornfully. “There are rules idiot. You can’t just go interfering with curses or Old Magick.” His hand harshly kissed the other cheek, bringing the raised side of skin into symmetry. But the sheltered male remained despondent.

“Pine Tree! Pine Tree!” Bill screamed, voice lacking any of its normal obnoxious calmness, utterly frantic as he held the boy to his chest, forcing him, commanding him to respond. “ _Dipper_ ,” he whispered, pushing forcefully into the teen’s fading mind. **Wakeupwakeupwakeup** , to which he felt a strong lurch as the form shakily regained consciousness. 

The pair’s relief turned to despair when Dipper’s eyes fluttered open, the normally soft mocha spheres now completely sticky black with violent flashes of purple carved, freshly formed specks cutting through at their edges. His lips curled into an aloof sneer as he regarded the bodies leering above him coolly.

Bill looked back at Dipper, barely noting the frozen form of a distressed Stars to his side as the teen arrogantly answered his gaze, neither wavering in the sudden standoff the two found themselves locked in. Without breaking from the stare, he swore loudly.

“Fuck.”

“If you insist.” The incubus’s gums pulled back wildly in a reveal of bleached ivories as the sneer curved into a deepened grin, its form straightening from the unruly mess of parts into a languid, slightly bent line before it raised its chest out of the arms tying it down, shooting the stunned nearby brunette a jaunty wink. Then smashed his lips into Bill’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Dodges pitchforks and thrown pebbles*  
> Yes I know, I'm a monster to end it that way and I can perfectly understand why my disembodied head as you imagine it is now the image plastered onto that dartboard hung off your wall. But you only have to wait until Saturday so disassemble that firing squad and return to your homes in a calm and orderly fashion, cuz ooooh boy next chapters are the fun ones. 
> 
> Extremely fun to write and hopefully just as fun to read because well sex demon (whadya know, demons do come in threes, huh), which means the smexy smutty times be a coming. See? Not everything that comes from my keyboard is entirely deprived of happiness or features the mutilation of the day's unlucky character. Just 99.09% of it. 
> 
> Well I can tell the rage is still simmering. Would it help if I left? I think I'll just leave. So I'll be on my way out then. See you all Saturday for the first of a two-parter and a continuation of that kiss to which all shippers can unite and squee to their hearts' content, just as long as they don't murder the writer first.  
> ~ MUI


	21. So, Your Eternal Slave is Possessed by a Sex Demon (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> >User.approved/B.Cipher  
> >e/RRoR_  
> >Program_Dipper/Pines_is/not//responding  
> >restart_softwa/_re
> 
> >Y  
> >N  
> >  
> >Y/_  
> >ReStarTing//Progr_am//SDRAWKCAB.EGASSEM  
> >STI_ANNOG.TEG_DRIEW_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for one of the most confusing chapters yet as we switch viewpoints between a newly made demon stuck in the middle of an identity crisis - brackets are Dip's human side breaking through and italics are that yummy incubus - and a sadistic triangle who, although very much not complaining about the certain... advantages... that come with the situation, is not prepared to let his pet fuck everything in the surrounding area. 
> 
> Fufufufu, I promised smut and I deliver on my promises. Dominant Demon possessed Dipper be hella hot. 
> 
> Welcome to the misadventures of a lonely incubus in a lowly town (Part 1). Also known as the one where Dip ships himself with everyone. 
> 
> E.v.e.r.y.o.n.e
> 
> Oh and I repeat, smut alert. But well, incubi have urges too.

Dipper was vaguely aware of being held tightly by hands that gripped around his waist before with a horrendous lurch he found himself pulled into a swirling void as blinding purple symbols erupted out of the air, latching onto his body and spiralling across his flesh.

He screeched and batted fearfully at the glyphs that burned as they entered him, sinking beneath his skin. He blinked, examining his arms closely, relief slumping his shoulders as the inspection revealed no drastic change, when the ground and all sensation suddenly

_Sl_

_Ip_

_Pe_

_D_

_A_

_W_

_A_

_Y_

**_._ **

**_._ **

**_._ **

 

 

He attempted to open his eyes but the lids were like lead and refused to budge, leaving him as good as blind. Well okay, he’d had worse than a temporary loss of vision, he could deal with that. He just had to do what he always did and work out exactly what he needed to know. Namely where he was, why he was there and exactly how he had got here.

Where and why drew a blank which he couldn’t pursue, no matter how hard he tried. Any possible answers just slipped from his grasp and refused to come, much to his growing frustration. He huffed, shoving them aside after once again,  _nothing_. The answers he demanded stubbornly declined to come forth, no matter how hard he probed. So where and why were no good, which just left how.

Okay, he mentally ticked off each, woke up, blind, in the middle of who knows where, after…meeting a lady in a forest(?)  _Oh she was nice_ his brain sleepily mumbled and he nodded. Met a nice lady in a forest, which meant…he’d been in a forest. Not the biggest breakthrough to brag about, but it was progress, even if only a little. So even if he never fully recovered at least he would still be able to somewhat confidently say that he was a nature lover. Yeah, it was certainly something.

He eagerly followed the thread, running after it as if it were the spool of quickly unravelling yarn that it felt like, the rounded ball shrinking fast between his fingers as he frantically followed the unfurling ends.  _Forest forest forest…why was I in the forest...?_ (you’d fought with Bill) his brain helpfully supplied.

For some reason the ordinary name carried with it an abnormally extravagant range of emotions, from paralysing terror, to conflicting (loyalty) before settling on burning rage, the brand feeling familiar yet the person bearing it a stranger; any attempts to recall anything about them fell to a brief interlude in the mental haze whereupon the words  _liar, monster, snappy dresser_ (?) filtered through his mind before disappearing into puffs of yellowed smoke, their presence and the person they alluded to remaining otherwise unexplained.

From the way his fists clamped into harsh vices, whoever this ‘Bill’ could be, he was apparently extremely pissed with him. The violence in the reaction as a result of some reason that he was yet to recall.  

He stood after realising his body was pressed into what he guessed was the ground, pushing his knees up and throwing his arms out to the sides to catch his balance as he angrily swayed, dangerously close to falling back to his previous position as the effort was met by a tidal wave of exhaustion that shredded through his system and left his head reeling.

One arm blearily rose to his head to press against a rounded knot forming at its back, but the movement was sluggish and he groaned at the latest exertion of effort, the action once more strangely weighted, leaving him feeling like he’d been standing underneath a building scheduled for demolition when someone had mistakenly pressed the trigger, sending the structure crashing down on his unprepared form below.

His fingers brushed the grown bump, resolving the possibility that there was indeed a golf ball sized bruise sticking rudely from the crown. He prodded the raise gently, hissing as the exploration sent a spark of pain stabbing through his skull with the force of someone driving millions of knitting needles roughly through the reddened skin.

He chuckled as the imagined scene sprung up and he was briefly accosted by a strange brunette bearing the very weapons, for some reason finding that the whole thing was observed by an adult male pig who watched through intelligent eyes from where it was slumped on its throne of a stained veteran of a settee that looked to roughly be in the same shape as something that had been dragged backwards through a hedge and then set alight. Judging from the scorch marks peppering the surfaces, he could easily believe it had already been subjected to an arson attempt, and he would be just as unsurprised if it had seen a fair share of hedgerow. 

Then he blinked and both it, the pig and the girl were gone.

He patted the bruise for a second time, taking care to keep the contact soft, for fear of producing another hallucination, deciding that he must have continued his reputed clumsiness and tripped over something in the Must- Mes-  _Mystery_ Shack again.

Dread began to pool when he realised he’d almost forgotten the name of his home. He exhaled a deep breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding in. Oh that couldn’t possibly be a good sign for his health.

He figured Sam… he paused, knuckles whitening. For some reason the name felt  _wrong_ , like it didn’t fit properly on his tongue. Seb? The second attempt ended in the same feeling of incorrectness that had accompanied the first. He felt it so strongly but couldn’t even begin to explain why. He angrily bit his lip.  Stan… he shouted aloud in relief.  _Stan_ would call him senile.

Stan…his_Gre_t/Un_kle?

no no No NO  **NO**

He slammed his hands over his screaming ears as the feeling of wrongness leapt into a sudden jerk of acceleration, panic clawing up his throat and begging for release as he realised exactly why the outburst that had reduced his mind to a series of  _wrong wrong **wrong’** s _was currently overwriting the entirety of his senses, desperation and fear building as he searched for knowledge that he knew – he knew,  _he knew_ but could no longer access, the data obscured as if locked behind some kind of door.

Life obviously decided to show its personal hatred for him in the form of some sick joke, the punch line swimming through his murky mind with a sting of resentment, because as soon as he'd made the comparison, he realised that that was exactly what he was standing in front of.

A red painted door, surface chipped and paint peeling, bizarrely bearing the shape of a hollowed gold-trim triangle at its top, and a series of splintering boards nailed over its front in a criss-cross, hammered roughly over themselves in their places, the metal securing tips rusted and bent at odd angles, the half-botched job suggesting the little experience possessed by whoever had placed them there for whatever purpose they served.

For some reason he was filled with annoyance at the sight and growled, deciding that the door should never be locked, let alone _barred_. Which was strange. Why board up a door that should never be locked? Even more strange, he found, was that he could still somehow see the thing despite his current lack of vision.

Every time he tried to draw close to the door that some deep part of him screamed to reach, as if stumbling through would somehow alleviate him from the chaos and emptiness brought on by this inexplicable feeling of  _not knowing_ , some invisible force shoved him back, dropping him away further with each futile attempt and soon he couldn’t even get within two metres of it, only able to watch through confusingly lidded eyes as that door faded, its frame going first, wooden sides slowly vanishing before the sickened red front bleached into a foggy grey, the lines of the strange little triangle scribbled an unsettling black, before the entire thing was swallowed into the darkened fog that he’d been left in. The feeling of  _forgetfulness_  he couldn’t shake, that robbed his mind of the majority of its rational thought increasing tenfold with its absence.

He felt his balance slip and tumbled, air rushing past his ears as he sunk back to the ground, falling on his side, too exhausted to bother repeating the arduous process of standing. He was sure he’d just end up back down wherever he was with his face kissing the floor even if he did.

He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms over, locking them into position in a halfhearted attempt at security as he buried his head. Now that he was aware of exactly what was happening, he could physically feel his memory ripping away and his stomach sickened, pain blurring what little sense of surroundings there had been as some unseen assailant ignored his pleas, prised open his skull in a move with the all the gentleness of a chainsaw to the face and proceeded to forcefully tear them away from his reach, kicking him in the gut as they did so for good measure.

His closed eyes shuddered and heaved as droplets burst at the trapped edges, and he burrowed his face into the improvised snare of limbs, wholly miserable, frantically repeating all that he could to anchor him to who he was, the rising panic now unchallenged and unabated as it became impossible to resist the seduction of despair to which he gave himself fully when he barely managed to recall three sentences, and even those three blurred, the words growing heavier in his mind before they started to combine into one almighty unintelligible stream as painful holes – holes that he knew should be filled – continued to open and swallow the information that some part of him told was extremely important. Yet he mournfully realised, he had forgotten the part that knew why.

MynameisDipperPinesMysis ** _T_** e ** _R_** is ** ___** MabelPine ** _S_** Iameigh ** _T_** eenMy ** _N_** ameisDipperPinesMysisterisMabelPinesIam _…(seven… **O** r..eight…een?)MynameisDipperPinesMysisterisMa(Ma-ry? _ **O** r_ Ma-rgeret? M-abel?) Pi **N** esMynameisDipperPin **E** sMysist_ (?)_

_MynamesiDi_perPinesYmnamesiDipperPi_esYmemansiDipperPinesYmemansiDipperseniPYmemansireppiDseniP- **Wake up**_

_The voice was high and nasal and it fucking hurt. He slapped one hand over an ear, the relief of the following silence sadly far shorter than he desired as again the buzzing irritation broke through, seemingly determined to continue its unprovoked assault on his mentality._

**_Pine Tree_ **

_The disembodied voice again disturbed him._ It was an odd name.  _One he didn’t like, but apparently one deeply familiar with the **voice** who refused to shut up, as they called it frantically, as if this ‘Pine Tree’ _he wrinkled his nose. Again, odd name _was close and cared for. For some reason that observation made him want to giggle and he gave in to the temptation, hoping that maybe his own sounds would drown out the annoying gnat who had somehow invaded the space he had found himself in._

**_PiNe TrEe_ **

_Apparently he would not be so fortunate. His laughter cut abruptly off when it became clear that there would not be such an easy escape from this new pain that was now drilling its way into his skull._

**_WAKE UP YOU STUPID PILE OF FLESH_ **

_He yelped as it inexplicably jumped up in volume. So the irritation had lost just as much patience with him as he himself had with it. Apparently it had also chosen to dispense with the pleasantries as he registered the new message as an_ (insult).  _He chose to reply in turn._

 _“Shut the fuck up,” He tested the_ (words. Spoken thoughts were  _words_ )  _and was deeply surprised to find the ease in which they slipped from his mind and into his throat, dancing across his lips and into the open air as if they had always. The letters pulled together just as easily, and he guessed he must_ (have been)  _employ_ (ing) _the frequent use of that particular combination._

 _His voice was deeper than it_ (had been) _and he struggled_ (tried to recall) _, why was it so deep? It was missing…something. He knew the absence, knew it as it broke through him, spearing painfully through his chest. But couldn’t possibly recall the absent. What was missing?_ (crack…a_no_ing cr_ck)

****

**_DIPPER_ **

 

_“Dipperrrr” He rolled the word across his tongue, amused as it bounced up to the ceiling of his mouth and flopped not-so-gracefully at the back of his canines. It was an odd name but no odder than the previous address of ‘Pine Tree’ which fitted him perfectly and confusingly at the same time did not. This new one he felt drawn to and decided to repeat, basking in the new sense of warmth it brought with each repetition, the new sensation sending him to the sudden realisation that he had previously been wracked by body spasms._

 

**_WAKE UP_ **

_He growled. Irritated. The **voice**  rang once more, cutting sharply in his ears and he wanted it to shut up but no matter how he swatted at it, the incessant nasal pitch continued, angrily invading his mind and refusing to let up until it had become an unbearable stream of  **wakeup’** s._

_He raked his (_ fingers. Those stumps at the ends of…hands were fingers)  _across his face, feeling the action pull at his closed lids._   _Would it finally shut up if he obeyed? Seriously pissed as again it broke through, he forced his eyes open, determined to lunge at the source of annoyance and swat them for the gall of believing they could command him through insults and orders._

_Upon waking he found that he was being held like some dumb parcel. Nu-uh not happening. Even if the blondie holding him was cute. He licked his chops at the golden haired stranger. Extremely so. He levered himself up and out of blondie’s arms, noting with a hum of approval that blondie held his gaze, twin electric blue sparks refusing to look away._

_Blondie’s lips opened and lust rose up, punching him in the gut and sending him metaphorically sprawling as he imagined exactly what those lips could do to him. Specifically, to certain parts of him. Blondie continued to stare as he intoned a loud ‘fuck’ to which he grinned happily. His thoughts exactly._

_“If you insist,” he answered smoothly as more heat stewed in the pit of his stomach. He shot a quick wink to the brunette frozen behind blondie as he stood; straightening his form and entwining his hands around the neck displayed in front, then crushed his lips into the man’s._

_Fuck he tasted good. Sweet and honeyed like (_ Caramel) _. He tasted like_ Caramel.

_He knew the word but it **hurt** when he tried to follow it to find where from. And he paused, dazed as he physically smashed against an unseen wall, shaking his limbs experimentally to test for damage and calling an immediate cease on the recollection attempt. So base thoughts and observations were fine but prolonged concentration and deeper digging led to a sledgehammer to the stomach? Duly noted._

_…_ Where was he? Oh right,  _Caramel._

_He nipped at the fleshed tips, encouraging blondie who in turn moaned and got the message, compliantly opening them, allowing his tongue to slide through and gently tease the previously blocked canines, running over their tops and finding them unexpectedly sharpened._

_Blondie’s own surged up and the two appendages locked into a brief combat, tussling for dominance, but soon his had forced Caramel’s down, and at the victory he smoothly began to explore the cavern properly, mapping out the dip of each point, the gentle protest of the roof, each gash of the inner crevices._

_“Dipper?” He lazily lifted a single lid, staring at the brunette_ (Recognition. Mab-…?) _nearest to him who had heralded the question. Slender legs and curved hips. A tumble of russet mane. No Caramel, not even close, but still, definitely sexy-(NONONO__ Disgust. Sharp and sour. D_n’?t).  

 _There was that ‘Dipper’ again…was that his name? From the frequency in which it had been addressed to him, he concluded it probably was. Either that or they were being extremely careless with a word that seemed to mean an awful lot. For some reason the girl was_ (Familiar).

_He paused briefly in his exploration, barely thinking of the frustration the unspoken question that had developed in his mind with the interruption brought before returning his full devotion to its previous task of worshipping the insides of Caramel’s gooey sweet mouth._

_W    h    a    t    w      a    s      his         n       a    m    e     ?_

 

Dipper was kissing Bill. Sure, the kid wasn’t exactly in his right mind, maybe he was ever so slightly possessed by a demon that thought of nothing outside of fucking the nearest living, and sometimes not so living, thing, but hey, begging triangles couldn’t be choosers. He’d been waiting for Pine Tree to kiss him (somewhat) willingly for far too long. And as he had professed to Dipper earlier, patience was not one of his fortes.

So maybe the succubus had been good for something after all. Maybe he should have made her disappearance from existence a teensier bit less painful. He deliberated the idea for a moment before coming to a gleeful, if slightly,  _okay extremely_ , vindictive conclusion. Nope, she messed with his property. Incorrect, she messed with his very specifically  _claimed_ property. And she’d tried to snag his off limits favourite meatbag.  

He didn’t go around painting eyes on any average shmuck. Pine Tree was very clearly his and Bill had explicitly marked his territory for all to see, staking all claim over that delicious collection of spinning cogs that was locked inside the kid’s noggin. The blind bitch deserved everything she had coming and he had been only too happy to give it to her.

Bill relaxed into the kiss, surprised when Dipper’s teeth tore into his lips to signal the want for entrance. It was a pleasant change from the embarrassed squeaks that would erupt from the kid like some kind of deranged indignant dolphin whenever he would go anywhere near the very mouth that was now hungrily clamped to his face. Of course it would take a demonic curse for the kid to finally open up, in all senses of the phrase.

A second nip and he compliantly parted his lips; Dipper’s tongue instantly surging through the now opened gate, immediately shoving his own aside to press hard against the roof of his mouth and run across sharpened molars in a move that Bill was forced to concede was indeed very appealing.

So Dipper was currently overrun by incubus instinct, so what? He was okay with that. He felt Dipper shift around him, a grunt like an animal caught in heat the only warning before the boy surged forward with a renewed vigour, his tongue plunging down Bill’s throat.

The area around his crotch tightened and he felt the boxers below shudder, pressing closer to his skin, band of elastic tightening its hold, as they struggled to contain the growing bulge forming at their front. Very okay with that.

It was only when he felt Dipper’s hands begin to descend towards the belt of his slacks that he pulled away slightly, albeit reluctantly, refusing to simply lay down and let the kid have his way that easily. Of course, he was an opportunist. And this, this was certainly one opportunity he simply could not pass up. Even if he had to play bitch to the slutty alpha.   

Not that he would let it go far. As much as he would enjoy the situation, this dog in heat scrambling to jump into his pants was not his Pine Tree. He’d only let the bat stuck in rut go as far as he allowed. An enjoyable experience certainly, but he would not play the submissive for long. Not when the idea of dominating and fucking the kid till he couldn’t walk straight for a week was so enticing.

 _Without pulling away – fuck no would he stop tasting that sweet caramel that was so dizzyingly addictive, he moved his hands down the man’s neck, past a bow tie, amused slightly at the extravagant choice in fashion._ Who even wore a bow tie casually? _And trailed down a silken tail coat. The man seemed to realise what he wanted; their breath hitched and they struggled, trying to get away._

 _He growled out a warning. That was not happening. They were here and Caramel was his. His chest rumbled with a deep purr. **His.** The statement of ownership felt right. Incredibly so. Caramel belonged to him. He was going to fuck this man into oblivion. He was going to force him against the ground, rip his extravagant wardrobe away and pound into him so hard _(Bill’s)  _hole would be left bleeding._

(Bill. He recognised the name and repeated it, smiling at the jolt of familiarity as he  _remembered_ then  _didn’t, feeling the memory_ so tantalisingly close, howling as he tried to grasp at it, but an _other w)ave of heat practically knocked him over and whatever had been so important slid out of his grasp again._

_Caramel tried to pull away again and his grip tightened, nails puncturing itching fabric and sinking into the bronze below. Why was he running? This felt good. Fucking was good. Ergo, him fucking Caramel was good. Why couldn’t he just accept that?_

_His hand dropped lower and slipped easily through the elastic of boxers, stumps of fingers falling over plump cheeks before descending onto Caramel’s member, humming with approval as he found it already erect._

_He playfully skimmed the fleshy hardened surface, purring as he teasingly stroked along it to its base in long, gentle strips, feeling it jump up each time he withdrew his caress, humping the air desperately in an attempt to grind against any surface to find friction, before he returned to it._

_Caramel elicited a heady strangled moan and muttered something that would probably have sounded at least half intelligent if it weren’t for the fact that he was still effectively gagged by the tongue probing the backs of his throat._

_He wrapped his fingers firmly around the hot member and moved his fist up and down the perked shaft, pushing his fingers closer each time he reached its head, moving slowly at first before quickening the pace, feeling Caramel’s body snap and jerk up as he violently pumped._

_His moans mingled with Caramel’s as his own member stiffened, yearning to bury itself deeply within his companion's entrance. Something about the blonde’s arousal appealed to him on an entirely new level. The man tasted delicious and he was quickly developing an unquenchable appetite for the acquired delicacy._

_Caramel arched into him, and he smirked as his eyes flitted to those piercing orbs, finding them scrunched shut, taut lines running around their edges as the man’s body constricted, battling to contain a longing keen that throbbed against the insides of his neck._

_How adorable._

_Sensing that there was no longer any need for any other tether as he currently had his hands gripped tightly around the man’s throbbing cock, leaving the male unable to rip away even if he wanted to, and from the deaths of the previously loudly vocalised protests he sincerely doubted that he did any longer, he withdrew his second hand from Caramel’s waist, sliding it too beneath silken boxer shorts and dropping the newly arrived five fingers to the man’s balls, cupping them gently in his palm before squeezing, fondling them briefly then rolling them back and forth to the owner’s pleasure._

_The two of them settled into an elegantly passionate dance as he pumped whilst his partner fought, refusing to concede defeat, stain their pride or keen aloud.  Caramel shivered as one fingertip pushed violently into the cupped balls, kneading into the flesh tightly._

_Neither of the pair gave much attention to their surroundings nor the company kept until-_

_He snarled as suddenly a weight dropped harshly on his back and he whipped round, furiously withdrawing his hands from their prize, irritation building as he was forced to slip his tongue out of the temptation of Caramel's sweetened cavern and back into his own, the thin shared line of crystal dissolving, breaking the link between them as his head snapped, finding himself face to face with_ (M_b_l _) the female brunette._

_(It rhymes with table)_

_He howled, raising his hands to his face and smashing them into his scalp as his vision was hijacked by the form of the russet coloured girl currently standing in front, a trap of wires stretched over widened enamel, the middle of her smaller form enveloped by an orange puff_ (marshmallow) _as she sang excitedly to the backdrop of a darkened stretch of water._

_Nails popped into flesh and the image was gone._

_“Pine Tree,” the abandoned Caramel growled, crossing his arms in front of his chest, covering the beautiful rips adorning the flashy tailcoat to reveal rippled tan muscle. His cheeks were dusted a slight pink and dribbles of perspiration hung rigidly off his brow._

_Fuck. He looked so fuckable. The brunette was behind Caramel, peeking out from his back, her fingers resting on his shoulder blades. Her skin pressed against his…_

 

_Vision warped and he choked. Hit by an overwhelming urge. Fuelled by… **rage**_

 

_"Mabel, move!” Caramel screamed and the brunette’s face scrunched up in confusion,_

_“But it’s Dipper,” she reasoned slowly, still rooted to the spot._

_“Shooting Star, that isn’t your brother. At least, not right now it isn’t.” He growled in annoyance as Caramel moved in front of the befuddled girl, shielding her from his sight._

**_Who the fuck did she think she was? Touching his Caramel._ ** _Fed up with all this waiting, he surged forwards, determined to rip her from him in any way necessary. Kill her. Claim Caramel. Then fuck him._

 _He slowed as Caramel’s body began to pulse, his steps faltering, suddenly unsure, at the shift in atmosphere. “You're gonna regret this, kid,” Caramel murmured warningly. He took one slow, pronounced step forward. Flames leapt into the blonde’s hands. Each coloured a blinding cerulean that commanded his vision._ Oh fuck. _His brain screamed._ Caramel was a (demon. Of course Caramel was a demon. Caramel was **B...** ). Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuc-

 _The rest of his thoughts were wrapped in a heavy blanket as more a_ (tsunami) _than a wave washed over him and dragged his screaming form unwillingly into the blackened depths that had risen up to meet him._

(_nd f_r th_ th_rd t_m_ th_t m_onth h_ dr_wn_d)

“You killed him!” Mabel screeched, her thoughts descending into chaos as she struggled to comprehend the scene that she had just witnessed, frozen, unable to do anything as Bill Cipher kissed, then burnt her brother alive and threw his burning, half breathing body into the nearest tree.

Oh god Bill Cipher had kissed her brother. Ew. Coming back to that later, or better, _never_. Oh god Bill Cipher had murdered her brother. Bile rose in her throat, hot and heavy as she fought the urge to retch. “You killed him you killed him oh god oh god,” She gulped a deep breath, “oh god. Dipper.” She keened brokenly then blindly charged the demon, hurling curses, but grief robbed her voice and she only managed an inhuman shriek that barely reflected the hurricane of emotions ripping apart her insides.

Her hands slammed against Bill’s chest, her fists beating repeatedly against the front of the torn tailcoat Dipper had moments ago treated in the same way a paper shredder treated a sheet of A4.

“You murderer! You monster! You  **monster!** ”  She howled insult after insult, continuing to rain punches against the demon until her arms were dead in their sockets and she was forced to concede, staggeringly inhaling a large breath, reluctantly downsizing the attack to the most hateful glare she could muster through the mucus hanging off her face.

“Gee thanks for saving my life, Bill. Oh no problem, Shooting Star. Glad to see someone appreciates not being torn apart.” Bill snarled sarcastically. “Quit the sympathy shtick. Yes, I’m a monster. Yes, I’ve killed people. Glad we’ve finally established that. And by all means, shoot me. Oh wait, your fucker of a Great Uncle already tried that!” He paused in the tirade, tiredly running a hand to the bow tie clasped to his neck and straightened, rapidly regaining his composure. “But Pine Tree isn’t dead.”

She sniffled and rubbed a sweater sleeve across the bottom of her nose, hiccupping. “He’s not?”

“Nah," Bill hesitated before happily chirping, "but he’ll have one killer headache when he wakes up. Kind of like a hangover, but without all the fun of drinking the booze.”   

“He looked broken." She whispered, tugging at fraying ends nervously before raising dampened eyes to stare at Bill in a glance lacking its usual hostility. She wanted to ask why Dipper hadn't recognised her. Why he'd tried to _kill_ her. But instead she settled for a half mumble of "What did she do to him?”

“Demonic curses are never pleasant kiddo. Especially not this one. Forces the host into whatever the caster’s species is, and wipes em completely clean. Personality, memories, blammo,” Bill’s hands violently jerked as they mimed a bomb going off. “All gone. Which means that may look like Pine Tree, may even sound like him too. But it isn’t your brother. He’s locked up in that body somewhere even I can’t reach.”

“How do we save him?” She answered instantly. There was no question of if. She would not believe that Dipper couldn't be brought back. She refused to even consider it as a possibility.

Bill fingered the coal fabric thoughtfully. “We~ll the spell basically starts a timer ticking in their DNA that doesn’t go irreversibly off until a certain aspect of the new form is utilised, for wendigoes it’s cannibalism, sirens, drowning. And for incubi, well sex demon. Even for your limited flesh brain it should be pretty obvious.“

She ignored the insult. “So all we need to do is make sure my socially awkward, eighteen year old bro stays a virgin?” Mabel questioned hesitantly. 

“That is the idea, yes. But if we fail, he stays like this,” Bill gestured behind him to the unconscious form splayed inelegantly on the forest floor at the foot of the tree they had bounced off when he’d batted them halfway across the country, ass lifted up to kiss the air, “forever.”  He puffed out a long breath. “Good thing is that bitch was nowhere near powerful to pull it off properly, which means we have a better chance of getting Sapling back. Most timers are a week. I’d say we only have to wait a day." He dusted his palms. "Two tops.”

Mabel snorted, throwing one hand up. “Pfft, one day. How hard can it be?” She paused, eyes widening as shoes scuffed the forest floor. She coughed into the clenched hand nervously. “Er, hey Bill?”

The demon faced her, impaling the heel of a dress shoe repeatedly into the softened ground impatiently. “Yes toots?”

“Where’d he go?”

“What are you talki- fuck.” Bill’s confusion trailed off as he turned to Dipper. Or at least, the spot the boy had been in. Because though the thing looming in front of him was a prime example of the magnificent species of pinos massoniana it sure as hell wasn’t  _his_  Mason Pine Tree.

He swore, slamming a curled fist to his thighs in frustration. He was really regretting teaching Dipper inter-dimensional travel.

“Ooooh,” Mabel’s excited voice broke the sounds of the enraged snarling demon currently trying to hold itself back from razing the entire forest as she held her phone up happily in the air and exclaimed, face brightening, “Score! I just got six texts from Wendy!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmmm dominant Dipper showing that Dorito some luvin <3 I'm so going to Hell for this, but when you get the idea of a sex crazy Dipper in charge as a break from the submissive bottom brunette, well, it's awfully hard to resist. And I had to reward Bill for being on good behaviour. He hasn't even murdered someone in three chapters, that's like a new record- *looks at ashes of previous chapter* Oh. 
> 
> I've been planning this one for a long, long time, and well, as expected, it was super fun to write, I just hope it was as much fun to read. Hopefully that'll sate some appetites until the actual main event which is coming along real soon. Though smut alert is still in place. Teehee.
> 
> And Mabel still has her innocence, from where she was standing it just looked like one very enthusiastic smooch. Can't have all the Pines stuck in psyche wards now, can we?
> 
> Catch all you lovelies on the flipside  
> ~ MUI


	22. So, Your Eternal Slave is Possessed by a Sex Demon (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The character cast increases and huh no, that isn't a typo. Well, that's a new one.
> 
> Trust me, I'm just as surprised as you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy hot Belgian waffles, we're about to hit 4k. Fuckin hell I never expected this, but then again, a couple of years ago I never expected to by typing out an aged up twelve year old calling a yellow menace of a nacho 'fuck buddy'. 
> 
> Anyway I can't believe it's been over a month and this is at like 80k words already and I've only passed out on the sidewalk once (joking, it was on the bed and that's basically the same as falling asleep without meaning to, the sidewalk would mean going *shudder* outside). 
> 
> So to celebrate thine loveliness, I bring thee gifts of ship moments, possessive nachos, chain fetishes and nipple twizzles. Because how else do you keep a incubus entertained?

Bill didn’t even bother with the front door of the Cordurory residence, just wrenched it off its hinges and strode purposefully into the hallway, ink-drenched heels echoing against hardened wood as he poked his head through the alcove that led to the sitting room, finding himself staring at a scene that would have been hilarious if the starring role was performed by anyone other than  _his_ pet.

Because seeing  _his_ Pine Tree, not even seducing but attempting to skip each painfully slow step Dipper Pines normally agonisingly deliberated, listed out, paced, and lay awake each night despairing over, and get right into fucking Red into the flannel wall he was pressed against, smirking coolly and enjoying himself far too much as the redhead in question held him at axe point, was not funny in the slightest.

His eyes narrowed to dangerous points as his lips twitched uncontrollably in time to the vein currently popping below chopped gold bangs as he observed the pair, stiffening before stomping his entrance into the room.

As much as he wished that in the space between last laying eye upon the youth they had suffered some face-altering, grievous injury, say half their face being ripped off (accidentally of course, very sad, such a shame, so unfortunate) the woodcutter remained what the average hick meatsack would class as aesthetically pleasing.

Almost matching to her assailant’s height, Red stood, holding the weapon rigidly between the two, complexion marred by a burnt scarlet, crimson namesake tangled wildly out of place and the day’s green checked shirt ripped, tattered fabric torn open to a perspiration-ridden white vest below.

“Oh come now, you’re a sharp girl, surely you can see the excellent point I make,” Dipper murmured, leaned casually, eyes lighting at each wordplay, their jet-set gaze playfully following the blade pressed to his windpipe before locking with Bill’s. He lifted one hand in a flippant wave, elbow jerking awkwardly so as to avoid any unwanted amputation, the arrogant smirk shifting to a cheery grin, flashing a full view of dentures as he chirped out a vibrant “Oh hey Caramel, miss me already?”

Bill did not return the gesture nor the greeting. He did not miss the way Red’s eyes lingered on the exposed lines of the kid’s torso. They were certainly beautiful, not in their strength but in their form, each darkened curve hinting at suppleness and flexibility; Dipper’s muscles were not those of an ox but of a cat’s, carrying a feline grace over the blundering overloaded stacks some flesh piles so distastefully seemed to favour.

Beautiful, but they were also very much  _Bill’s_. That Red may have developed an infatuation for someone that had previously been so taken with her yet now remained indifferent was a side-splitter to think about – unrequited desire for copulation always was since it constantly drove the poor unloved sap to such desperate measures (Kidnapping, drugging, and other methods of such ilk, and always followed by so much guilt, to the point where some particularly derailed bonebags would even off themselves, HAH hilarious!), but remained unacceptable.

Dipper was his and that meant no one was allowed to look at him that way  **except him**. Not some dumb sex bitch or some dumber ginger bitch. What every demon that had ever been in the unlucky position to be able to would tell the questioning wayward traveller was that Bill Cipher did not share. At least, they might if he had left them with a tongue. Or alive. He guessed those wayward travellers would be getting pretty lonely round about now.

He growled, striding forward and snagging the boy round the waist, impatiently dragging him away from both the axe and the unwanted admirer who made a small noise of protest but otherwise allowed the action. “Shut the fuck up, we’re leaving now.”

“Oh my, so forward.” Dipper lustily purred as he embedded the back of his head into Bill’s shoulder. “How delightful. Very well, where are we going? Yours or mine?”

Bill retracted any previous gratitude felt towards the succubus. This was absolutely  _insufferable. This was not his Pine Tree._ He made a note to personally stomp the essence of each succubus he met within the next century apart, as painfully as possible.

His maw gaped as an answer was reached but the opening was promptly snapped back into a set line by the interruption of a high pitch screech of “Wendy!” as the remaining half of the Pines Mystery wonder duo crashed into the room, skidding with the speed launched as she barrelled round the corner to complete the set, distressed face blistering as she heaved, one arm to the wall as she doubled over, russet mane drooping over her features, panting heavily.

“Mabel Pines, would you mind explaining why your brother broke into my house and tried to rip my top off?” the ginger barked in a tone that he figured was a laughable attempt at intimidation as she rounded on the female twin. Fully relieved of its previous duty, the axe fell to rest against her hip as arms folded inwards in a sign of – yep, definitely intimidation. How quaint.

A low giggle rumbled in his throat, and Red’s head snapped over to him as she shot a downright murderous gaze that, if looks could kill…well, he would still be perfectly alive because you couldn’t simply kill energy. He batted his eyes innocently back at her in an act of obliviousness which, he noted with smug satisfaction, only riled her even more.

Stars almost looked bashful as she pushed a finger into her flushed cheeks and swung lightly on the ball of her heels. “Weeeeeell you know Dipper and the supernatural…” Her attempt to wheedle was sorely received and Mabel wilted beneath the intensified glare beamed her way, feet stilling and fingers pulling to her chest as she hurriedly continued. “Bro kind of maybe might have got zapped by this demon lady and lost all his memories and think he’s an incubus.”

Red slapped a hand to her face with a smack far too quiet for his liking and muttered “Idiot” under her breath before exhaling, straightening and turning to him, visibly shaking the events of the previous hour off, shedding the should-be life trauma as if it were an everyday occurrence. Then again she had been exposed to Dipper for years; by now she would have born witness on multiple occasions to the phenomena that doggedly shadowed Dipper. And that experience was the reason why she and each person who regularly came into contact with the teen weren’t currently strapped into white-latch confines and greeted each morning by padded walls. She jerked a hand in motion to Bill without looking in his direction. He bristled. Rude. “Who’s tall, dark and creepy?”

“Wendy, this is Will,” Mabel paused, scratching a hand roughly behind one ear as if deliberating before continuing. “Dipper’s ah, roommate.” She mouthed the girl a not-so-subtle-totally-obvious silent plea of  _just go with it_  from across the room, an effort to curb further questions which was irritatingly ignored.

“Dipper never mentioned a roommate, nor any guy named Will.” Red muttered, voice laced with suspicion as her eyes twisted to the hand placed across Dipper’s abdomen. “So are you dudes…?”

“We’re friends,” Bill growled, tightening his possessive grip on his quarry.

“Fuck buddies,” Dipper intoned over, voice a loud deadpan.

Mabel reddened further as any intelligent response from Red’s part was lost to a series of hacking coughs, their intensity leaving the girl momentarily incapacitated, though in a frustratingly short length of time she had recovered, pushing ugly strands of rust to the side of a bleached face.

“Right, yeah, incubus. Huh, probably should have seen that one.” She shook her head, as if as annoyed with her own stupidity as he was. “Can you just, I dunno, get him out of here?” She glanced furtively behind her to the room’s second entrance, a patterned staircase that was as equally as flannel-obsessed as the room currently stood in visible through the gap. “My brothers are gonna be down any moment and I really don’t want to skewer your bro to stop him from jumping them against the bookcase, Mabes,”

Dipper’s snort and following response of “Bookcase? So uncomfortable. Couches were invented for a reason you know,” was ignored by all in attendance, leaving the boy to pout and begin to petulantly poke at the edges of the sleeves trapping him.

“Right, will do, c’mon guys, maybe we can get Dipper back before Stan realises we’re gone.” Mabel pulled hesitantly at Bill’s tailcoat and he turned sharply on his heels, dragging Dipper back down the hall with him. Red’s eyes followed, but the girl remained where she was, one hand rising to scratch awkwardly across her elbow.

“Nice meeting you...Will.”

“Nice meeting you too!”  _Meeting you was one of the worst experiences of my existence._  “Sorry about the door.”  _So not even remotely sorry._  “Cya round Red!”  _If I ever see you again I will rip out your intestines and wear them as a scarf. Go die in a fire, you dumb bitch, sincerely, Bill Cipher._

“Call me! We’ll have lunch some time! And by that I mean se-” The speech was abruptly cut off by the sudden appearance of Bill’s hand clamped hurriedly over Dipper’s mouth, which was just as suddenly withdrawn, followed by an enraged roar that sharply pierced through the peaceful street and could probably be heard all the way back to the Shack, of “ **DID IT JUST FUCKING LICK ME**?!”

 

* * *

 

Mabel pressed herself further in a wall, trying to ignore the not-so-happy noises that originated from her stomach at the movement. Bill had space bounced (okay, the actual term was teleport but she had been with Dipper on the terminology, space bounce was a much better name) them all to Dipper’s room, leaving her swallowing her breakfast twice.

That had been two hours ago and her insides still hadn’t fully recovered. Sadly, neither Bill nor Dipubus (as she had explained to Bill, incubus inhabiting Dipper’s body equals Dipubus. To which the demon had labelled the name dumb and her dumber for creating it, stating that it was stupid as fuck and he would never be caught dead using it) had shared her suffering – Bill arguing that his superior in every way body would hardly be in pain from experiencing a simple bend in dimension, and Dipubus’s own state of unaffect quickly became apparent as upon the hop, he proceeded to pick up every single item in Dipper’s possession, curiously hold it to the light as he reiterated “What’s this do?” then throw the object in question to the floor, before deciding that the window was just as good as any door and making a literal break for it, furnishing the place with a brand new carpet of jagged transparent shards in the attempt.

Two hours. Two hours of trying to keep the incubus unseen and (hardest of all) unheard. It had then been decided five minutes ago, on upon a rough query to the door, to which Dipubus brightened and yelled an animated, upbeat “Come in!”, covered by Bill’s and her own hasty screeches of “Don’t come in! Don’t come in!”, that someone had to distract the Stans.

Which was why a Waddles dressed in Ford’s favourite (and up till now missing) turtleneck was waiting to be deployed in her room. And the reason for why she was currently attempting a slightly different alchemy of turning the human body into an unnoticeable plank of wood as she searched her mind for anything,  _anything_ that would work to prolong the distraction of the Grunkles and keep their minds away from that one dreaded issue of….

“Sweetheart, where’s your brother? Point-Dexter has an announcement to make,”

She slumped. And there it was. That one gap in her rambling speech of benefits of using coloured cheques over the boring, bland beige paper norms (Twice the colour meant twice the fun, or as she put it to the money-obsessed Stan, twice the value) and it was out.

Where’s Dipper, Mabel?  _Oh he’s just in his room, possessed by an incubus and being watched by the demon that has attempted to kill our entire family on more than one occasion. Who is also his roommate._  

“Er yeah, Dipper…” She trailed off, shooting a quick glimpse at the figure behind Stan. If there was ever a time for Ford to be described as mad scientist, it was definitely now. With his disorganised hair sticking wildly in matted tufts from the top of his head, haggard, reddened eyes glazed and rolling, and untamed growth of stubble clinging to his bottom lip, the guy looked like he’d finally caught the crazy train out of town.

“It’s a breakthrough,” Ford mumbled from behind, pacing impatiently as he angrily muttered half sentences that she barely caught snatches of; “…all there….signs pointing to….I was so blind…” before they rapidly  disintegrated into the repetition of a series of “Can’t believe I didn’t see it before”, wringing his hands helplessly as he looped the stretch of hallway.

“Dipper’s… not feeling too good right now-“Her stammering mumbles were interrupted by a crash  from above her head, the sudden leap in volume physically painful, the evidence for a miniature explosion followed by the muffled sounds of someone loosing a violent string of swears so colourful even her not-so-innocent audience flushed.

Unsurprisingly, Bill had a flare for the explicit. And apparently a penchant for threats involving grievous injury or death as she was pretty sure the latter part of the muffled words translated to “…decimate your entire species.”

The Stans glanced at each other. Ford, breaking his prowl and coming to a stop, folded his arms as Stan’s eyes roughly appraised her. “Really not feeling well.” She added quickly, before another thump, equally as loud as the first (pretty sure that was the bookcase falling over) originated from upstairs.

The breezy smile plastered across her face died as contorted lips stretched upwards in an attempt to reach the lower part of her nose. She drew in breath, forcing the wince’s hurried end as she struggled to garner a bubbly, carefree expression. One that wouldn’t send the armed and trigger-happy men sprinting up the stairs to her slightly demon possessed brother.

“So he’s trying to sleep. Will’s up there now, but you know what, it doesn’t sound too good so I’m just going to go check on them so uh, bye.” She called over her shoulder, already in a half sprint for the steps before the two could call her out or summon her back.

“What the actual fuck, Bill?” She yanked Dipper’s door open and stormed inside. “How am I supposed to convince the Grunkles Dipper’s sleeping when it sounds like this place is doubling for a missile testing facility?”

“Well you try shutting him up then,” Bill muttered sullenly, pushing a thumb haphazardly towards the form of Dipper who was currently transfixed by the invention of a mirror, giggling as fingers physically twisted his face out of shape, before screeching “intruder!” at his reflection, pulling his fist back and slamming it into the glass surface, obtaining seven years of bad luck along with a bloody knuckle and a serious increase in evidence in the case for demon anger management classes.

She groaned, casting a look around the room which really did look like a missile had hit. As she’d correctly  guessed, the bookcase had indeed fallen over, the collection of shelves emptied, now lying mournfully on its side, paper charges pooling around the wood, carefully cared for covers ripped and meticulously kept in condition spines broken. Dipper was going to be seriously pissed when he recovered. “How long do we have to go?”

“Twelve and a half hours.” Bill’s grimace mirrored her own. She didn’t like the expression, it was almost vulnerable, it made him look almost…human. “Buckle in kiddo, it’s gonna be a long night.”

“Okay, we can do this.” Mabel muttered, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself than the ex-triangle (triangle, Mabel, he was a freaking  _triangle_ ) present. “We’ll just take shifts watching him.”

“Wow, that’s actually pretty smart, Stars. Congrats kid, you’re not as useless as I thought.” And there went any chance of mistaking the demon for a human. Bill could look as uncomfortable or thrown by the situation as she was, but he remained a gigantic ass. “That’s a compliment, by the way,” He added, curling one leg over a knee and floating casually up into the air to recline on his back. “You can thank me now or later. Later works too.”

“Oh gee, _thanks Bill.”_  She bit out, though she was unsure whether the demon noticed the sarcasm or simply chose to ignore it as he barely looked her way, answering with a jaunty “You’re welcome toots.”

“Right, well you can take the first shift, and stay away from the Stans. I don’t think they bought it.” She glanced at the door, as if expecting for it to be thrown aside and for a blaster-toting Ford to come charging through. “I’m going to go release Waddles.”

“Sure thing," Bill rested the back of his head against the centre of the V shape formed by his locked arms. "Pine Tree and me, we’ll have a party.”

“Don’t wanna.” The incubus muttered, crossing his arms and throwing itself onto the bed, legs pulling up to its chest into a perch for its head to lie upon, curls falling over the darkened pupils as it sulked.

“Tough,” Bill snarled. “I want my Sapling back, and that means you’re stuck with me till this dumb curse rans out.”

“Right, well I’ll just be leaving then.” She muttered, staying true to her word and promptly exiting the room, an action going unacknowledged by the two remaining residents who simply continued their exchange regardless.

“Oh, and how will you stop me from running?” The teen purred, raising his head to gaze pointedly towards Bill, pout shifting to a condescending smirk as if he knew some great secret Bill didn’t, his form taking on a bluish hue as if about to…

“Chains?” Dipper raised an eyebrow, the glow dying as cerulean shackles snapped into place around his wrists and ankles, forcing his body down against the covers and securing his limbs to the frame. “Kinky.” 

Bill tried to ignore the lust that suddenly rose to the forefront of his mind. After multiple fantasies, he finally had him chained to the bed. Though in Bill’s mind there had been a lot less clothes. And less demon possession. Still, he eased himself back into a standing position and fondly appraised the bound form angrily writhing below him; pulling at the restraints in a pointless bid to free himself, skin already raw against the biting metal; the image was definitely a keeper. “They’ll stop you from escaping, or trying to fuck your sister.”

“Sister?” Dipper echoed, an impish smile playing on his features. Bill tried to ignore the fact that knowing the brunette was his twin had probably only increased his lust for her. Incest was some seriously sinful stuff. He himself had never seen the appeal, but incubi loved it.

He wondered briefly if there was still some part of the human Pine Tree in the corner of Dipper’s mind, who was screaming ‘Ew, fucking gross man” at his incubus self, before dismissing the question with a chuckle.

Of course he would be.

This was  _Pine Tree_ and Pine Tree would never just give in to such a situation, case in point Bill’s own attempt to have the boy. The entire time, Dipper wouldn’t shut up about having his body stolen, treating it like some massive overstep in boundary. Even though there were much worse things Bill could have done. He’d left him alive, hadn’t he? He had no doubt Dipper’s conscious was alive and fighting with that oddly endearing but oh so annoying never give up before the last corpse has fallen attitude of his.

“So, it’s just us again, huh Caramel?” Dipubus (Stars was never learning that he’d addressed the boy as such but right now his lower half needed every reminder that this Dipper was not his Dipper) regarded Bill with lustful eyes. “You look pretty bored, and I can think of a couple of activities that would keep you entertained.” He purred, running his tongue across his lips before smacking them loudly.

Fuck it. If he was stuck watching the bitch in heat for an hour then he’d damn well make that one hour at least bearable.  His boxers were already far too tight from the present glorious view of Dipper bound and helpless, finally forced into submission. It may not still be Pine Tree’s mind, but it was his body. And it was about time Bill laid a few more claims of ownership on  _that._

His hand easily clawed open the tee and the boy was hardly in any position to fight as he set to work, teeth grazing the flesh lightly, teasingly sliding over strips before returning and sinking deeply into each spot, each time coming away bloody as beneath him Dipper moaned, bucking his hips and arching into the contact.

Laughably the points of his canines left each indent in the shape of a miniature triangle, so that by the time Bill was starting to feel sated and the area in his boxers had ceased tingling as infernally, the boy carried hundreds of the shape in rows that ran across his arms, over his chest, up his neck and, Bill noted smugly, in the space between his thighs.

He momentarily drew away to appraise his work, then leaned over, looming across the now beautifully patterned chest and let a finger play across a raised nub, noting in approval the rise’s perkiness beneath his tips. “Hnn… fuck Caramel, you’re… into some…real…messed... hggh... up..shit..huh?” Dipper managed to huff out in between tangled moans.

In answer Bill dug his nail into the hardened centre of the nub, causing Dipper to throw his head back and screech as if he were, well, possessed. Well if that didn’t bring anyone running like it was the apocalypse then he didn’t know what would.

Sure enough the door was soon smashed aside as the female twin charged, grappling hook (wasn’t even going to question that) clutched tightly in a curled fist. “I heard death,” she pronounced, “What needs to die?”

“Nothing, but you can take over now, I’m done here.” And he was; nothing killed the mood faster than an armed adolescent of the Pines species.

He growled, slamming the door behind him satisfyingly loudly and stalked down the corridor. Interrupted by Shooting Shitty Star. Though happily the girl returned from her own shift, pale, shivering and hopefully scarred for life as she jabbed a thumb in direction of the door and whispered a broken “Your turn,” before stumbling off down the hall to her room, narrowly avoiding forgetting to pull the wooden hunk open as she slipped into obscurity.

His following shifts passed without incident. Well, passed without incident as much as possible when dealing with a hormonal sex demon. He simply slammed his eyes shut, rammed his hands to his ears and did his best to block out each ‘fuck me’ quip, knowing full well if he gave into the temptation of having his way with the chained teen and properly bedded the boy he would be forced to deal with this thoughtless idiot permanently.

It was a great relief then, when the eruption of a purple glow into the otherwise darkened room signalled the end of the ordeal, glyphs rupturing from skin and breaking, crumbling away into the air as Dipper leapt forward, yearning desperately against the restraints, his mouth thrown open in a feral howl as his eyes widened, beetle black jumping to a solid white, purple flecks retracting into the blinding shine before the light faded, cut off as their owner slumped backwards roughly into the bed, their shades when opened, returned to the beautiful doe mocha.  

Bill grinned as he kicked his legs out from his post at the foot of the bed. “How ya feelin champ?”

Dipper groaned in complaint, pawing angrily over one eye as he blinked, blearily turning to the demon. “Like I could sleep for a week.”

Bill possibly took far too much pleasure in the simple action of chirping to the newly awakened boy “Tough, tour bus in an hour.” But the muffled scream that followed as Dipper rolled onto his front and screeched into his pillow was simply delicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, Dipper's human again, I know, I know, boo hiss bad MUI, but the smut alert is staying up so *cough cough hint hint WINK* lets not riot juuuuust yet. Heh. 
> 
> It has also come to my attention that I may be suffering from slight/major sleep deprivation after an incident involving shower gel mistaken for shampoo...but on the plus side my hair now has the delightful aroma of marshmallows. Score. Though have no fear, that's not gonna be slowing my schedule down in any way. Pfft, sleep who needs it, amirite? Amirite? 
> 
> That being said I shall see you all on Thursday, for a d-d-date with a demon?! It's gonna be romantic as fuck, and by that I mean call the family, someone is going to need a funeral planned...  
> ~ MUI


	23. Corpses and Candlelit Dinners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ♫Dorito gonna fuck toniiiiiiiight ooooooh they’re totally gonna fuuuuuuck  
> Insane psychopaths and unburied co~rpses  
> Yes they’re totally gonna fuuuuuuck♫

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An entire chapter of ships and smut. 
> 
>  
> 
> *Jazz hands into the depths of Hell*

Dipper really did sleep for a week. He roused occasionally, though mostly just to convince Stan and Mabel of his not being dead or to complete his work shifts, which he would blearily stumble through before falling back into bed, returning to a near comatose state, too exhausted even to argue against Bill from joining him each evening between the covers (He had heatedly disputed this move on the first night but quickly learned fighting against it was futile, and secretly he had begun to enjoy the presence of the demon’s body alongside him. With his unnaturally heated body temperature, Bill really did make for a great body pillow).

Of course those seven days spent functioning at bare minimum and barely conscious made it two weeks since Bill had last sent him out, and unsurprisingly the demon quickly made it apparent he would be making up for the time taken off, even if the slackening in his second occupation had been as a result of a demon possession outside of his control.

In the days that followed his recovery back from sleep-obsessed to sleep-deprived boy, his kill count rose exponentially. He swiftly fell back into the role of psychopathic murderer, slipping quietly from the Shack each night to slaughter the next un-innocent as dictated by his demonic ruler.  It was a routine he now openly admitted to thoroughly enjoying; killing people really had become more of a pleasurable pastime than a burden. And tonight was no exception.

He cracked his knuckles and let her run, form once more bobbing off into the distance as it ducked behind the wall of cover offered by the combination of branches and increasingly set darkness. It was more enjoyable when they ran. The sharp tang of fear that clung to them upon grasping their situation as the previously unprecedented top of food chain discovered a new rung, one above even they, in the world order, the huffs of their breaths as they fought to evade the predator that stalked easily behind them, the deliciousness of the hope that rose as they sped towards escape, desperately believing that survival was still an option, and the following fall to despair; that hope rising only to be abruptly dashed as that window of possibility closed for good.

She was a good runner – he’d give her that. Easily had enough experience to be one of those people who squeezed into spandex and made a round of the town each morning to a silenced blast of the latest upbeat tunes. Plenty of stamina and the actual smarts to use that wisely; sensibly sticking to a prolonged low jog rather than instantly burning it out as most did through a short and ineffective sprint.

This chase must have lasted an hour, at least. He resisted the urge to burst into a fumbled round of applause, settling instead for a brief hum of approval as fingers rose and fell, drumming neatly across the fabric of his trouser pockets. Most didn’t make it past the thirty minute mark.

He had made it interesting of course; announcing his presence at random intervals, shimmering into existence, leaning casually into the throngs of pine needles and observing from her sides with arms folded or leisurely advancing to her front, basking in the addictive screeches of terror that resulted from  such a move and left him dizzyingly craving _more._

But she was slowing now, worn down by the deadly pairing of continuous muscle exertion and ruthless passage of time. Time was the real killer in such a situation. Not whichever weapon he chose to wield. Everyone had a limit and hers was steadily approaching. The broken bones probably weren’t helping either.

He almost pitied her as she hobbled away from his next appearing act, his eyes watching the silhouette from his post at the side-lines, the shade whimpering as one arm clutched at her shoulder, the joint awkward and buckled.

She could barely run, barely even manage a shuffle of a walk at this point. The woman who had so furiously dashed away upon his first appearance, disappearing into the ironically presumed safety (so ironically presumed in that she hadn’t accounted for his previous visits into the gathering of trees and the sudden, inexplicable appearance of a multitude of bear traps, wire snares and dirt holes laid expertly throughout the area) of the darkened forest was nothing more than a shattered ghost.

There were remnants of the memory – the way that even now, with splintered limbs, she continued to drag herself further, expression pained but hope, though greatly reduced and faded, still apparent in those eyes that tickled with moisture at their edges. There was a certain air of desperation to her that hadn’t been present before, but even now, the fact that she was a fighter persisted in its apparentness.

Some part of her truly still believed this was merely some sick joke taken too far. That she would make it out alive. Some glorious, idiotic part. And both he and Bill revelled in it.

He wasn’t sure which of the two of them she was more afraid of; her would-be murderer who seemed to defy the impossible and simply just emerge from the shadows around her, or the man whistling casually behind the killer as he strolled, occasionally drawling a comment, mostly some pun alluding to her condition (such as the chipper “Oh wow, she’s really looking _broken_ up about this” after one particular interaction between prey and predator had resulted in a snapped wrist bone) which would draw a giggle he supposed as fittingly psychotic from the both of them, impaling his cane into the ground with each step, walking the woods and twisting his head as if simply admiring the scenery, a widened grin splitting his face and cat-like eyes dancing aflame even through the pitch fog that had surrounded them upon the hasty exit from the neatly trimmed grass lawn.

A broken screech from up ahead signalled the end of the chase and he sighed. Pity, he’d been hoping for at least another ten minutes. He looped a finger through a tattered hole in his right pocket, grunting impatiently and started in the direction of the uproar.

Unsurprisingly, she was caught in a bear trap. With the lack of light and her limited knowledge of the lay of the area it had been an inevitable outcome. Honestly he was amazed it had taken till now for one of the snares to lock itself firmly around her ankle, the latched razor teeth sunk viciously into her skin ripping flesh bare to the bone. From the agony emboldened across her twisted features, he predicted her entire situation was extremely painful.

He wondered briefly, catching the fist aimed towards his face easily and sliding his grip down to the wrist, twisting as he did so to be rewarded with a delightful howl as the socket popped out of place, exactly what her name was or how such a person had come into dealing with a demon. Because she appeared, unlike most of his newly deceased acquaintances, to be for the most part a stand-up, respectful of the law citizen.

Though any thoughts of honouring her memory by carrying her identity were quickly forgotten as she pulled back, inhaling as if about to perform another scream, and spat in his face, the action narrated by a low chuckle from his companion, formed glob of saliva landing to the left of his cheek and oozing down the side of his face.

He growled in annoyance, deftly swiping the spittle from his skin and lifted her from the ground, trap still leeched to her leg, slamming her body against the nearest tree, forcing her roughly into the bark as she squawked.

He wrapped his fingers around her neck and squeezed, the grip tightening as her face purpled, breaths rattling through her chest before her mouth flopped open uselessly, drool pooling at its edges as her tongue lolled inelegantly over pearl rows.

He waited until she was on the edge of consciousness before relenting, easing his hold briefly, allowing a single ragged gasp of oxygen before once more pressing his fingers deeply into the flesh of her throat and pinching.

He repeated the action, taking pleasure as she scowled through him before her eyes rolled back, unable to concentrate on the form swimming in front of them. Although he grew far too bored far too quickly, and after the fourth prolonging of the inevitable she barely resisted, body like a broken doll, hanging limp beneath him.

She didn’t protest when he finally allowed her heart to stop. Didn’t kick or scream or struggle like she had previously. Just gurgled and ceased. After the lengthiness of their game, the abruptness and ill quality of the ending was extremely disappointing.

Disgusted, he freed his hand and let her fall to the floor, where she obediently remained, broken and discarded. Giving in to a sudden burst of vindictiveness, he directed his foot directly into the bridge of her nose, hearing the bone fracture with a satisfying crack.

Job done, he waited expectantly to be ordered back to the Shack as had become the norm. So it was an unexpected development when Bill caught the edges of his shirt and yanked him harshly to the ground, his body pulled on top of the demon’s in an improvised blanket as they lay, pressed into each other, to the witness of thousands of starkly burning orbs hanging upon the canvas of shaded ebony, the intricate set of lights displaced only by the presence of a dappled silver sphere that stood defiantly in their middle, glowing a pale, wispy silver in its place above the furthest reaching pointed tips of nature.

He felt Bill’s body shudder, his own back lightly vibrating with the slight tremor accompanying the release of an almost wistful sigh as the demon unexpectedly mused. “They’re so beautiful.”

Surprise filtered through Dipper’s expression as he processed the words, his thoughts unwittingly emerging aloud with a snort that hinted quite clearly at his belief, or lack thereof, in the demon’s genuineness. “Never thought you’d be one for natural beauty.”

“Stars are in short supply back where I’m from, kid.” Bill answered in a gravelly voice, underlying tone mournful, despite the words' initial harsh bite of bitterness.

“Oh.” Dipper paused; any response muted, guilt and strangely pity – had he really come to pity Bill? Somewhere along the line he must have – needling a steady path through his gut. The thought that Bill had never experienced the simplicity of observing the night sky in its full glory was strangely depressing.

Mind numbed from the suddenness and discovery of the realisation that, yes, he really was feeling sorry for Bill Cipher, he found himself nestling his head deeper into the demon’s shoulder and placing his own arm over Bill’s, locking his palms over the spindles of fingers, surprised to find the skin beneath his smooth and heated, gently raising both of their limbs to gesture at a cluster of brightened sparkles that formed two crude lines across the darkened skyline.

“See that shape there that kind of looks like a guy caught in the middle of a crucifixion? That one’s The Swan, Cygnus. And the one over there…” His actions were accompanied by a slight moan of silk as he moved to point Bill gently across to another grouped formation. “The one that looks like a decapitated corpse doing the splits, that’s Taurus.”

He figured that Bill, being an omniscient being, already had all this memorised and as such would soon show a cleat disinterest, but a warm glow spread through his senses as his partner’s mouth remained unusually absent of speech, and he realised the demon would remain silent, allowing Dipper to freely point his body to each constellation and give a brief description of each without interruption, satisfied to simply listen to the string of spiel strung in rising excitement by the boy rested above him.  

“And that one there,” The space across Dipper’s forehead tingled as he motioned them to a familiar arrangement of several points. “That one that looks like a giant frying pan, that’s the bi-“

“ _Ursa Major._ ” Bill breathed heavily, cutting him off as he finally broke his vigil of silence. The sudden hot puff of air brushed against Dipper’s earlobe, burning the flesh and sending a delicate tremor sprinting up his spine. “The Big Dipper.”

Dipper found his own cheeks flaring as Bill whispered the name reverently, swallowing as he nodded woodenly. He became more aware than ever of the person beneath him and sharply freed his hold over Bill’s hands, dropping his own to his chest, dampened palms already yearning for the return of the forsaken heated touch.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this-“He muttered as he twisted his body round, bringing himself face-to-face with the demon who stared at him almost blankly, eyes owlishly blinking as they peeked out from a curled ink line, mouth slowly forming a lazy o, their owner momentarily appearing as confused as the swirl of his own emotions currently fighting for dominance in his mind.

“Pine Tree.” Bill murmured, voice rising slightly as his hands reached up to caress the tops of Dipper’s curls.

“I’m probably insane.” Dipper continued, shaking his head as if hoping the simple action would regain some semblance of order to the chaos presently reigning over his mentality.

“Pine Tree.” Bill’s voice had risen to a notable point now, the words as striking as their speaker’s appearance, but Dipper barely heard them, too lost in the unseen showdown occurring within as he was pulled roughly in two separate directions. _This is wrong. This is right._

“We should hate each other.” He continued, breaking into a full blown ramble, unable to contain the stream of words that now spewed unwittingly from his mouth. “If my family ever finds out, if Stan ever finds out, if Ford ever finds out. They’ll kill me and exorcise you and then we’ll both be-“

“ ** _Dipper._** ” Bill snapped, jumping to a volume far too loud to go ignored, and Dipper’s tangent finally fell silent as he exhaled, forcing his breaths to return to as normal a pace as he could manage as he realised exactly how intimately close his actions had caused the two of them to become. “For the love of geometry shut up and kiss me.”

 _Fuck it, family be damned. Sanity be damned. I need this._ Dipper’s thoughts ceased, the boy unable to tear his gaze away from the temptingly supple lips, thrown apart in their invitation, in that one moment reaching an irreversible decision, throwing away all doubts and happily obliged.

He moaned as the kiss deepened, Bill’s tongue surging possessively down his throat, his own submitting willingly to the conquering force, a deep pool of heat awakening in his stomach that quickly spread, prickling the surfaces of his flesh as Bill’s fingers became heated infernos that burned through the fabric of a shirt he suddenly so desperately wanted, _needed_ off.

Bill must have read his desire as he pulled away, a slick line of saliva running between the two of them as electric cobalt blazed through gentle chocolate, the demon’s voice breathless as he uttered an almost incoherent warning. “Any further and I won’t stop, Pine Tree.”

The warning was unneeded. He had known they wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop, after that kiss. His fate had been sealed in that one beautiful moment of passion. _I’m a traitor._ He realised. _I’m betraying my family._ _And I don’t even care._

He meant for his own voice to be a seductive purr but it came out more a pitiful squeak, not that it did much to dissuade either of the two; no sooner had Dipper managed a muted rasp of “Good” were Bill’s fingers tugging violently at the buttons of his top, freeing each from their captivity with an air of desperation mirrored by the franticness of his own stripping of Bill; fingers clumsily fumbling with the dress shirt’s clasps, attempting before giving in with an almost feral snarl and impatiently tearing the silk away.

Dipper thanked every deity – including the one currently obsessed with shedding every piece of fabric from his form – for the absence of the tailcoat. Bill had disappeared it off earlier to whatever dimension he was using as a personal clothes locker. His hands slipped the slacks roughly down, shivering in anticipation as his thumb finally hooked around the band of elastic and yanked downwards, desire building as he fought to control the insatiable heat that rose up tenfold in his lower half upon the sight of the demon’s uncovered throbbing cock.

He blinked, suddenly finding their positions reversed as his back was rammed roughly into the ground, slightly jarred upon the impact, his head, now slammed into the embrace of thin green wisps of vegetation, staring up at Bill, who was now leaning with his legs braced roughly at Dipper’s sides.

His eyes skittered momentarily away from the form now looming over him, locking with the lifeless pupils lain one metre away from his head as he realised with an undisguised horrified groan, flushing in disbelief as he briefly dropped one hand away from the broad form to palm lightly over one eye, “I’m going to lose my virginity next to a fucking corpse.”

Bill chuckled and briefly paused in his mission to lay Dipper’s body bare completely, clearly amused as he toyed roughly with the protesting edges of fabric. “And they say romance is dead.”

Dipper’s own fingers stilled on the scratchy silk surface of the bowtie as he attempted a reproachful glare, his best efforts failing miserably as rough, wavering lines crinkled into existence across his forehead, an escaping smile lifting the corners of his lips. “Has anyone ever told you what a massive dick you are?”

Bill’s bared chest hummed as he loosed a second throaty chuckle. “No, but you’re about to find out _exactly_ how massive of a dick I have.” He haughtily preened and waggled his brows suggestively.

“You’re such a jerk.” Dipper retorted playfully, finally succeeding in freeing Bill’s neck from the choking slip of jet, leaving his fingers to descend down Bill’s exposed back, falling heavily against the pulsing carved shoulder blades.

“Mmmm,” The demon fluidly ran a cherry-coloured tongue over his equally cherry-dusted lips in a move that Dipper rapidly decided should be banned for the levels of arousal it invoked in him. “But I’m a loveable jerk. Makes all the difference.”

At that Bill’s fingers recommenced, roughly tugging Dipper’s faded jeans down to his ankles before running up his legs and slashing the front of his boxer’s cleanly open. Bill whistled in appreciation as Dipper’s already hardened member sprung, freed from its confines, tip glistening, embarrassingly already dripping with pre-cum.

Bill took in the form, totally exposed and helpless below him, eyes hungrily devouring the array of russet curls that fell clumsily over the constellation blazed above widened doe eyes that marked the bearer as ethereal, the flushed, dimpled cheeks and jerked movements of the chest that struggled in its fight to remember how to breathe as his fingers skimmed over the shivering flesh, feeling the muscles tighten and tense beneath the contact. “Fuck,” He shook his head slightly in disbelief at the stripped creature before him. “You’re beautiful.”

Dipper blushed, butterfly lashes fluttering as his eyes lowered, gaze demure and voice a stammered dulcet whisper. “I uh…I’ve never done this before.” At his confession Bill’s fingers brushed the sides of his cheeks and tilted his head upwards, forcing his pupils to remain locked to his companion’s.

He paused, tongue slipping to touch the bottom of his lips as he swallowed heavily, glimpsing the bronzed lithe form, dipped rippling lines accentuated by the thin layer of perspiration that dripped cleanly off the powerful curves.

“No worries kiddo, you’re a fast learner and I’m one **hell** of a teacher.” They both broke into a short fit of giggles at the wordplay. “Now are you ready? Because this is going to hurt at first.”

Dipper could only nod his assent, speech forgotten as Bill’s hands slid his legs gently open, pushing at his knees to spread them wide, his face burning as he met the intense expression of adoration painted across the features of the one above him, flushing deeply and suddenly realising exactly how naked and exposed he truly was.

He flinched as fingers entered because Bill was right, it _hurt_. It hurt like a bitch. One finger then a second then a third was inserted into his entrance in quick succession, the first expected, the following two barely announced as they plunged in, exploring briefly then scissoring.

He felt them stretch and pull the tunnel wider and he hated it – it was like someone was ripping the doll that was Dipper Pines physically apart at the seams. He stiffened, whimpering and tried to pull away, but found himself unable to, locked between a rock and a hard place – or the dew covered ground and Bill’s extremely hardened lower half.

The intrusion tore through his nerves until his mind had descended into a singing mantra of _pain pain pain p- pleasure_ as Bill’s fingers probed deeper, finally finding that little elusive ball that was their target.

Dipper bucked, hips grinding at any surface in a desperate attempt to create friction as he rutted against the hand pressed firmly to his ass, shrieking as his eyes madly spun in their sockets, clamping shut at the eruption of pleasure because god did that feel _good_.

He mewled in discontent as all too soon fingers wrenched away, leaving him feeling empty and hollow, mourning the loss briefly, before throwing his head roughly back and howling into the open night as slender joints were replaced by a thunderous bulk which buried itself deeply within him in one harsh thrust, his conscious once more falling to the tug-of-war, caught between exploding pain and dizzying pleasure, Bill’s member roughly spearing his insides and forcing its way through until it hit that sweet spot which caused him to scream aloud wildly in ecstasy.

His own moans were wreathed closely by Bill’s gasps as his spine arched and he blindly rolled his hips, Bill thrusting cleanly in and out, building a smooth rhythm, each time ramming against that bundle of nerves, pushing Dipper further into the dizzying heights of euphoria as he fought to remain anchored to any part of rationality, though all intelligent thought process had quickly reduced to an incoherently slurred babble of _godyesfeelsgoodfuckBillfuckmefuckmeharderBill_ , which upon trying to convey passed into a series of heated high-pitched squeals, any understandable words lost to strangled wanton moans as they fell past his lips.

“Bill…I…can’t….longer…” He eventually managed to pant out in between heaving sobs of pleasure, fingers stuttering as they carded unsteadily through the sweated golden locks hanging above him.

“I know, Pine Tree, I know. Come. Come for me.” Bill coaxed smoothly, mid-thrust. The command was the last push Dipper needed, and his body lurched, a particularly violent slam against his prostrate sending him spiralling out of control, unable to hold on any longer, and leaving his toes curling, nails embedding deeply as they clawed desperately into the dirt.

He didn’t see stars. No, he saw _galaxies_. The entire universe imploding at the backs of his eyelids as the undeniable urge to release faded, leaving him panting and struggling for breath, before once more air was robbed from his lungs as he keened sharply, his own explosion toppling Bill over the same edge he had just jumped, and warmth swept through his systems as the wave of Bill’s hot seed released, the demon obtaining orgasm with a guttural howl of "Dipper!", the slick clinging to his insides and filling him completely, its presence a stamp of ownership that he bore proudly.

Bill pulled out to the two’s happy sighs, the absence of stimulation allowing for the starting prickles of pain as his ass angrily throbbed, telling Dipper exactly how much he’d be feeling _that_ in the morning. Both of them trembled as they lay, locked in a sticky tangle of stained limbs so closely entwined he wasn’t sure where Dipper Pines ended and Bill Cipher began.

He felt arms draw around his waist and allowed himself to be pulled onto his side against the demon, his back forced tightly into the panting chest, moaning as needle fangs suckled on the tips of his earlobe.

“Mine.” Bill purred softly into his ear before returning to his improvised chew toy. Dipper’s voice was breathless as it mewled a confirmation of the statement, his lashes fluttering briefly as he sank further into the encroaching darkness, exhausted. His fading conscious remained vividly aware of the heated press of hands against his middle and the sharpened curve of the broadened front buried into his back. He was Bill’s. Completely. Undeniably. Mind. Body. Soul.

“Yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decapitations and crucifixion. Stargazing done the Cipher way.
> 
> Huzzah the ship has sailed, watch it disappear off into the beautiful sunset. They all realised their undying love for each other and lived happily ever after....
> 
> Hah yeah no. I'm not done torturing these poor souls just yet. Haven't forgotten about that lovely, delightfully upbeat opening now, have we? Besides, we still haven't had that gore scale 10 chapter I promised. And I always keep my promises. 
> 
> Was that a sufficient tease? Good. Now go squee in a corner you smut-starving, lovely monsters. I will track you down and hug you all in a totally non creepy way ( Thanks for 4k). I'll be seeing you on Saturday at a slightly earlier time than usual.  
> ~ MUI


	24. Where there’s a Bill There’s a(n Extremely Painful and Sadistic) Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill sees a problem and solves it the only way he knows how. It's not poor Dipper's fault he was caught in the middle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well wood ya look at that. Bad puns I know. But well its 3am and I think my mind just ran away into the forest. Oh well, if you see it, do let me know. Maybe I'll find it beneath my pillow. Whatever and wherever that is.

“Good morning Pine- fuck.” Bill broke off mid jubilant chirp, any pleasant greeting forgotten beneath the snarl violently ripped from his breath. He carved a fuming hand across matted golden bangs as his eyes snapped together, rapidly rising colour bruising tan, nostrils flaring inelegantly as he stared at the patch of fauna beside him, sorely lacking the presence of a newly deflowered, possibly ever so slightly mentally unstable, doe-eyed teen.

Had the boy run off, too embarrassed to face his lover? No, that couldn’t be. Dipper had been more than willing with the previous night’s activities. And he’d voluntarily stayed snuggled in Bill’s arms afterwards. And his clothes (well, what remained of them, the garments were hardly wearable now) were still scattered by the lifeless bitch’s corpse. Which meant some dumb creature had run off with his kid. Again. For the second time in eight days Dipper Pines had managed to get himself kidnapped.

He growled. Fucking interfering little shit piles stealing his fucking property.  ** _His marked property._** What, were they too dumb to see the  **triangle** written very clearly across the boy’s skin? The triangle that very clearly stated ownership by one Bill Cipher.

Was it too small for their tiny worthless brains to comprehend? He huffed out a short, furious breath. Dipper Pines was Bill Cipher’s. Bill knew that, Dipper knew that, a particular, newly deceased demon knew that. But apparently there remained some idiotic worthless stains of existence in the universe that did not.

He leapt to his feet, clothes melding into existence across his form as his fingers played angrily across the top of his cane. Something was going to die today. And he’d be damned sure to make it as painful as possible. A punishment befitting the crime. Because he was rapidly losing any semblance of patience with people messing with his stuff. His – did he mention already? – very much claimed stuff.

He came across nothing as he stalked through the forest. All life had wisely chosen to avoid the demon currently further charring the ground underneath his feet with each rage-fuelled step. Nothing until the silence of the morning was broken by something other than the snarls clawing their way from his throat. A sky pitched nattering that grew louder as he neared, the heated argument between the multitude of speakers becoming quickly apparent as voices continued to rise and sharply pierce the previous calm.   

“He’s  _mine_!” A squeal. Well less of a squeal and more of an impression of a drunken banshee that had somehow gotten ahold of a megaphone blared, bringing him extremely close to driving nails into the tunnels of his ears purely in the hopes of successfully shutting it out.

“But I saw him fir~st.” A high whine, just as offending on his hearing as the previous squeal, rose up to challenge the first speaker’s claim. From the huff of effort and the enraged shriek accompanying the end of the dialogue he guessed whatever object the spat was over had been torn away from the first’s possession.

“Well I touched him first! So the~re!” A third speaker, this one mercifully carrying a distinctly lower pitch, one that didn’t bring the urge to shove extremely sharp objects through any of his body parts up quite so much, chipped in, the new outburst similarly followed by angry cries and hurled spats of audible rage.

“No fair!” The first protested heatedly, somehow managing to rise in pitch and he winced, driving his heels deeply into the ground, briefly forced to a standstill as that banshee seemingly found the volume control switch on that megaphone. “I carried him here, he’s mi~ne!”

“He’s bound by my roots!” The second shrieked, continuing its challenge in the competition for Voice That Makes Bill Cipher Most Want to Commit Genocide. “So he belongs- to me!”

“You had the last one. And the one before. And his hair matches my bark. That means he’s mi~ne.” The third finished triumphantly, to the loudly broadcasted groans of their company.

“You are so not pulling the hair card again.” The second sighed, harrumphing in frustration.

“Just because we got stuck with green bark.” The first muttered sulkily, as if this were a particularly sore point often brought up, to chimes of the second’s agreement.

He followed the voices, not caring that he ignited about half the forest – so the widdle innocent wide-eyed baby animals would burn alive or suffocate from smoke inhalation, oh boo hoo, big fucking deal – before he found himself in the middle of a very unwelcome scene. The three speakers were locked closely together, each glaring at their companions, the first and second easily identifiable by their emerald flesh, each bearing a waterfall of cherry-pink petals from the scrapped, wooden skulls that jutted out from bodies of bark sculpted in a rough humanoid shape, marking the brown-skinned, red-headed figure as the third speaker by default.

And in between the squabbling group of most definitely not humans, swaddled in a bundle of roots and twigs was a seriously pissed off Dipper Pines who was, he realised with a distinct flush of pride, attempting a series of fumingly-raved Ignis’s, in an effort sadly crippled by the roots crafted over his mouth, to cremate his captors.

The spill of Latin broke off, replaced by what he guessed were a string of extremely colourful swears for once not gained through Bill’s influence - the boy had picked up them up around his guardians. One in particular. Stanley Pines had quite the explicit knowledge of a certain equally explicit niche in the English language. Sixer’s, in comparison, was as disappointingly innocent as one of those disgusting bundles of snot and mucus.

As Dipper was rudely yanked in three separate directions between the bickering spirits, swears quickly shifted to a series of death threats ranging from a relatively painless stabbing to a declaration of entire species extinction. Bill puffed his chest slightly, unable to ignore the increased eruption of pride at that. Now  _those_ were his influence.

“Well hello ladies.” The group instantly stilled as he slipped into view, each pausing in their motions over their captive as they warily locked eyes with the newcomer.

“Oh I like him. He’s cute.” Greenie numero uno giggled and flirtatiously pushed a hand through wispy branches in a move so dense he almost incinerated her on the spot for its stupidity. The dryad – yes  _dryad_  – batted its lashes seductively in his direction.

Of course it had been dryads. Because obviously his little pine would get stolen away by a group of sappy (pun a somewhat happy but entirely hilarious, coincidence) tree girls.

What with the entire ‘flesh of bark’ thing going on, and one having a bird’s nest sticking in the matted auburn strings of leaves that doubled for its hair, the species of the speakers was entirely obvious.

His lip carved upwards in distaste, the little patience that had been present thinning dangerously as the urge to burn them then and there increased, now nigh impossible to resist. But if he did so now they wouldn’t know their error nor he see their fear. And what was the fun in that?

He grunted in annoyance. Greenie One was still looking at him like some lovesick adolescent. Dryads. Or as he so lovingly referred to them, overgrown houseplants. He’d never cared for the creatures. Gnomes were at least a decent enough laugh, with their pointy hats, short tempers and tendency to overreact whenever turned down, and even nymphs played some pretty good practical jokes on the ignorant passer-by.

But dryads? Those brainless tree bitches were obsessed with beauty and nothing else. They’d pick up and take anything they classed as pretty – baubles, trinkets, shells, and apparently, he felt the flash of gold flare as he glared pointedly towards the bundle of twigs, naked Dipper Pines’. In his opinion, the only good thing about the materialistic hunks of wood were their extremely high levels of flammability. And even that burning alive shtick got old quick.

Greenie’s face fell into a pout as she was hurriedly hushed by the brownie, whose own expression was a delightful mix of horror and fear as she backed away slightly. Cowering? Well that was a start, he supposed. Not much, but a start.

The brown-skinned one – Nest Head – reluctantly flicked her gaze away from the captive Dipper, just as reluctant in her address to him. “Explain your presence, Cipher.” Oh, so one was actually smart enough for a half intelligent conversation? Pleasant surprise. That would make this much more enjoyable.

“Well that’s quite simple, my dear.” He sang softly, grinning as his step forward led to two of her own, backwards. “You have something of mine.” He lazily flicked the end of his cane to the still very loudly protesting bundled form to his front, eyes darkening to match the blackening sky as wisped grey lumps steamrolled through previously clear blue. “Something I want back.” He added leisurely, voice deepening as it boomed, despite the lack of an increase in volume, to his audience’s absolute terror.

“We didn’t know!” Nest Head shrank into herself as she stuttered. Fear was very clearly rippling off all three now. Even the two greenies had begun to understand that they had done something they shouldn’t have. Something they were going to pay very dearly for.  

“No?” They flinched as he paused his approach, faux surprise twisting hardened lips into an exaggerated o. He cocked his head, exclaiming slowly. “Surely, you can see that he bears my mark?” One finger stretched to point to the bound boy’s shoulder, even within the improvised cocoon, the lines of a triangle clearly visible against bleached skin.

“Well, it’s kind of small…” previously silent, Greenie numero dos piped up, her companions nodding their heads and chirping their agreements at the seemingly suicidal sentient sapling’s statement. “Easy to miss, you know?”

“Oh, of course, easy to miss, I see. That explains it!” He echoed smoothly, and the three exchanged startled glances as he barked a laugh, suddenly flying into a fit of animation before just as suddenly falling into a forced, suffocating seriousness. “Well then, we’ll just have to change that so no future  **mishaps** can occur.”

He reached them in four strides, shoving the first two of the group aside, his arm snapping out to snatch the boy in his confinements, breaking the crown of boughs surrounding his head and mouth, and slamming him roughly against greenie-with-a-death-wish who choked out a whimper but for once did the most un-stupid thing and remained standing where they were even as Dipper was thrown roughly against their front, the tree girl barely able to stutter out a protest as the boy was splayed out, the back of his head pressing deeply into her open cleavage, the dryad’s feet as frozen as their mouth.

“Now kid, this is going to hurt slightly.” Dipper jerked away slightly as he ripped open the remains of the wooden prison, the kid tiredly stretching his muscles, sleepily ducking his head in Bill’s direction, grateful for the return of freedom. Bill was lying. It was going to hurt a lot. He’d make sure of it. Couldn’t be caught going soft in his sentimentality to keep the kid alive, could he?

“But it’s for your benefit.” He hurriedly continued, sensing the deliciously sweet tang of the boy’s panic mingle with an unpalatable unsteady hesitation. “I really don’t want to have to put you on a leash.” Okay that was another lie. He may have had a couple…hundred…delightful fantasies of Dipper collared and tightly slung on a lead at his heels. But that was irrelevant.

Dipper’s struggles ceased as the boy realised this really was for his own good. Dipper listened to logic most of all and that logic was currently screaming that he had been kidnapped by two separate parties in the span of eight days. Bill could practically see the cogs spinning in the boy’s head as he grasped his position. He was a delicious offering for whoever decided to come along and attempt a taste next unless he allowed Bill to do whatever Bill was going to do. It was either this or deal with multiple kidnappings by supernatural abductors on a daily basis until one got lucky to Dipper’s misfortunes and actually succeeded. And neither of them wanted that.

“See, you’re a good boy, aren’t you?” He patted him gently on the head, as an owner would a dog, mind wandering not so slightly as merrily whistling as it cartwheeled off a cliff. Dipper really would look good in a collar, bent on all fours with his ass lifted in the air like a good little bitch - fuck. Focus Cipher. Claim territory now.  Fantasise about sex later.

Dipper nodded stiffly, his eyes scrunching at their edges as he nibbled adorably at his quivering lips, preparing himself for whatever act of horror was about to be inflicted on him.

Bill raised a finger to the exposed flesh, feeling it flinch back as if shocked upon contact as the stub nail elongated into a sharpened talon. They wanted big? Then he’d give em big. He’d give em fucking huge in emboldened capitals with those ridiculous squiggly lines underneath. By the time he was finished no one would be left with any inkling of a doubt as to exactly who the boy belonged. And if they ever went so far as to mess with what was his, well, they were, quite simply, screwed.

Dipper mewled, but otherwise remained silent, buckling slightly as the claw sunk deeply into the bottom of his stomach, wrenching across in a horizontal line spanning from hip to hip, before sliding upwards, beaded lines of crimson forming over cream porcelain as the chasm lengthened, pausing as he reached the tip before the point of his finger dipped gracefully, streak gliding over taut raised lines of pure power, descending to meet its beginning.

Once done the gulf flared, flames sparking over its surface, bubbling and hissing as skin fused once more, the rift sewing itself neatly back together, leaving only the scarlet, painted vividly against the paled white, the image frozen forever in the brilliantly bright carved lines.

“There,” He paused briefly to appraise his work. Beautiful, if he did say so himself. It was astounding how well his image fitted the kid. He didn’t confess to believe in destiny – no, that was some mortal bullshit created as a rather open scapegoat for the misfortunes and mistakes that plagued their sad excuses of existences – but sometimes it really was easy to convince himself something akin to that over-romanticised idea had a hand in the creation of Dipper Pines. His child of stars. A beauty created purely for Bill. “Surely now even you brainless idiots can see who this boy belongs to?”

“Oh yes, certainly. Definitely absolutely.” The tree girls garbled, each of the group nodding violently, Nest Head’s namesake dislodged from its perch in the sudden, unexpected bout of enthusiasm, the three breaking in over each other, desperate to parrot their rushed confirmations. “Belongs to you. Anyone can clearly see. Very effective”

“Good.” Bill purred, pulling Dipper away from the convulsing wooden body and into his own chest, running a hand comfortingly down his back in crude lines – he guessed Dipper would be in no mood for roughly sketched triangles – as he whispered soothing words into the boy’s ears, cooing proof of his beauty, promises of safety.

“So, we’ll just be going now,” Nest Head’s gaze flicked from him to the forest behind her, beginning to edge away, her hands hesitantly dragging the other dryads with her.

“Go?" He questioned, an immaculately groomed eyebrow mirroring the sudden leap in volume as it rode up his face, resting delicately among sharply chiselled lines that bunched together further as flickering hints of amusement grew quickly into openly admitted humour. "But I haven’t thanked you for watching my property for me.”

“Erm, you’re welcome?” the greenie to Nest Head’s left supplied, expression as quizzical as the tone offered.

“Yes, thank you so much.” Bill’s voice dripped honey as he cooed, feeling Dipper’s body buckle in his grasp as his hand began to trace the outline of the freshly carved triangle. “I am most…” His fingers paused in their administrations, hovering upon the highest point that rested between the two raised nubs, their following of the shape finished. “Appreciative.”

And for the second time in eight days, some idiotic wastes of oxygen found themselves unfortunately spontaneously combusting after messing with the property of Bill Cipher.

He sighed as he surveyed the burnt sorry remains. He really wished they would stop doing that. In his arms, Dipper exhaustedly whimpered his agreement before nestling deeper into the demon’s hold. An action that caused Bill to stiffen, his lower half roaring into life as he was very quickly reminded that Dipper was still very much naked.

* * *

 

Mabel didn’t bother to knock. If Dipper didn’t want her in he would lock the door, or in a totally her brother so much it physically hurt, move craft a miniature nerd barricade from that one swivel chair beside his desk and the stacks of sizeable tomes he called ‘light reading’. So she didn’t knock and just walked in. Walked in on him very much…. Oh god.

“Fuck Dipper, sorry I didn’t realise I’ll just go-“She choked out, spluttering, indignant flames rising as she flushed angrily, the embarrassment of seeing her brother butt naked suddenly dying as she registered the marks rigidly puckering the exposed torn skin, each of the gashes cut open across rippled lines of muscle less of a bite and more a straight up  _chomp_ , as if whatever had bitten him had a wicked pair of dentures and decided it liked the taste of lightly salted teenager.

She breathed heavily, wondering exactly what monster Dipper had run into that was vicious enough to inflict such a state. Any thoughts of a hurried exit fled, replaced by the sisterly instinct that demanded she pull her brother aside and into her arms, to rub his back and squeeze lotions over his back in the hopes of soothing each fresh hole while whispering comforting sweet nothings gently into his ears, like she had all those years before when Dipper had scraped a knee after falling off his bike or broken his nose after running into the washing line pole when being chased by the neighbour’s oversized Alsatian (One particular pile of fuzz that seemed to have it out for the boy, the beast living up to an aptly pacifistic name of Killer).

Guilt sat like a heavy stone in her stomach as despite knowing full well that the intruder was her, his head snapped up like a damaged deer sensing danger. So maybe they weren’t exactly on the best of terms right now. This was supposed to be her big apology. She’d even prepared the apology song in the hopes that that at least might get him to listen to her grovelling’s for longer than five seconds. God knows she had a lot to apologise for.

Not just for being a shitty sister, going behind his back, in the ultimate bitch move trusting a friggin demon over him, her own brother, knowing full well he’d never truly gotten past the immovable hurdle that was their last major breach in the entire sibling trust area, and treating him like some fragile piece of glass that would shatter if you looked at it the wrong way. No, not just all that. Because somehow she had continued to royally screw up their relationship. In fact the latest entry to the extremely long log of Mabel you’re such an idiot moments might even have royally screwed it up for good.

She had been purposefully avoiding him ever since the succubus possession thing. Because how exactly do you deal with facing a brother that had spent hours telling you exactly what he would do if you were stripped and laid, bound, beneath him? Duh, by running away from any interaction with said brother. She’d been sprinting from any possible encounters with him ever since confirming he wasn’t suddenly going to drop dead on her.

Even Stan had noticed her avoidance. Noticed, but hadn’t pressed the issue, knowing his lack of understanding in the touchy feely department, the man was probably hoping that the kids would resolve it themselves. Not that she could blame him, he had to look out for his own brother – a brother who was increasingly saying a goodbye to sanity with each passing sleepless night spent locked away down in the bowels of the Shack, pouring over tomes in his laboratory. Apparently life had decided the Pines family needed yet another left hook to the face.

“Shit, Mab-el!” Dipper’s voice splintered, unable to keep pace with the squawk, his hands fumbling for a shirt, hurriedly wrapping the material over his form upon realising the presence of an intruder in the ever so slightly most definitely awkward moment. When he turned to face her his face was a beaten tomato, his teeth tearing into the softened bottom lip as he breathed rapidly, sweat beading his brow, his figure twitching irregularly. Evidently he was equally as thrown by the situation as she was.

She relaxed slightly, in the knowledge that both of them were experiencing similar turmoils of emotion, that it wasn’t just her who was currently hoping for the appearance of a bottomless pit at her feet. As a result, she was able to limit the charge over and sister instincts to a slow, hesitant approach, forcing the pace to a painful near standstill. As if Dipper really was an injured animal she was terrified of spooking.

“Holy hot waffles. What happened?” She winced, unable to tone down the volume or screech the question came out as, expecting to be regaled with the latest ultra-dangerous escapade of the boy and his Journals, to hear that he had narrowly avoided becoming an afternoon snack for a pack of killbillies or was forced into an impromptu marathon against a wendigo. Of how he dodged death again in one of the daring stunts he pulled off on a regular basis.

She was totally unprepared, however, for the casualness of the reply as he blinked, surprise then understanding of the question dawning in his expression, the animation in his previous reaction fading as younger Dipper was overshadowed once more by regular, experienced, trust-betrayed Dipper.

His breathing steadied and his gaze flicked away, uninterested, to focus on some inanimate inhabitant of the room, as he muttered in a dismissive, almost bored voice,

“What, these?” He tiredly drew the newly covered sleeve up to reveal yet more missing chunks running up the sides of his arms. “They’re just lovebites.”

 _Just lovebites? JUST lovebites?_  She’d seen lovebites before. Heck, she’d even had her fair share of them after a date with a particularly grabby octopus of a guy. And those things littering Dipper’s skin leaving him sharing an appearance with someone left dumped in leech-infested waters for days, sure weren’t ‘just lovebites’.

She forced her features back into a smooth line. One that didn’t convey the horror tearing through her as she remained unable to un-see the purpled blotches that had clawed their way into him. The indents that had looked like random lines but were actually hundreds of miniature triangles cleft deeply into his reddened flesh. And then she felt horrified for an entirely new reason as she realised exactly which monster had left those marks. The monster currently downstairs, perched on the kitchen counter, happily chowing down on its sixth roll of triangular brethren.

Marks that were probably going to remain visible for at least the next week, maybe even the next month. Their existence like a stamp of ownership. Covering his entire body. She whispered in hushed broken tone, slick with the nausea currently assailing her senses. “Dipper, those aren’t lovebites. They aren’t even shark bites.”

He shrugged, offering a small smile and easily batted away her offered sanity, tone disgustingly tinged with pride. As if rather than the sign of abuse they so obviously were, they should be treated like some stamp of honour to be praised. “Bill gets a little possessive with his stuff.”

“Oh Dipper, no.  _No_.” NO _._  “Tell me you didn’t.” Please. She pleaded. Please dear God, if you have ever existed. Please tell me that it was non-consensual. Tell me that he held you down and forced you so I only have to deal with banishing a pervy demon for assaulting my brother.

“So what if I did?” He growled, backing away angrily, words twisting like a knife shoved through her gut as they wrenched her open and scooped her insides out. God hadn’t listened. He would never listen. Not when the one begging for an answer was a Pine.

“I love him, sis.” Dipper continued, streaming words that she didn’t want to hear. That she never wanted to hear. That she knew no amount of memory gun blasts would take away. Not even when she went as raving insane as Ford or McGucket. “Okay, you don’t have to play matchmaker anymore. I’m in love with Bill fucking Cipher.” He stomped away at that, slamming the door behind him, the angry thumps fading into the distance as he pounded downstairs. Probably off to find Bill and rant about her.

Conversation quite clearly over. Way to go Mabel. She’d gone to apologise to him and only ended up pissing him off even more. Great job, Pines. Real sister of the year material, right there.

She stared after him mournfully, as if deciding which flowers would look best at his funeral, the words spoken at a hushed meeting held long ago held with a crazed triangle man ringing incessantly in her ears. Refusing to fade no matter how hard she tried to banish them. “ _Dipper isn’t an object, Bill. He doesn’t belong to you”. A laugh. Condescending and obnoxious as he regarded her. As if he knew something she didn’t. Something terribly important. A jigsaw missing its vital centre piece. “It appears someone is painfully out of the loop….”_

Dipper didn’t belong to Bill. The deal was Bill would stay at the Shack. That’s what Dipper had said. Their lives saved for a place at the Shack. So why was she unable to banish the tears pricking at her eyes as his back receded down the hallway, the horrific feeling growing as unmistakable dread piled, dragging her shoulders into a heavy slump as a part of her screamed no amount of apology songs could solve this? That part that was becoming increasingly hard to shove aside as bile rose and her vision dimmed to a pinprick of faded light before even that left her? That forced her legs to stutter as she slammed her back into the wall, heaving sobs wracking her form as the taunting whispers echoed through her mind, cackling manically as they maliciously told her she had just lost her brother to the demon forever?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, such a shame, if only Mabel had seen Dipper’s front rather than his back. Things may have gone a completely different way…heh yeah right, like I’d let that happen. As if I'd ever allow the fun to finish like that.
> 
> Welcome to the beginning of a certain number of mishaps and unfortunate circumstances as we approach The End. That’s right, this thing actually has an ending, I know, 90k words seems kinda endless, but there’s an end to that endlessness, I swear. You may want to go re-read some of those lighter chapters kiddos, cuz it’s all Llihnwod from here.
> 
> And to show just how far that cliff we’re all about to plummet off is, well the next chapter has a gore level 9. Tub t’nod yrrow. Ll’ti eb a lerrab fo shgual. I esimorp. Oh you're looking at me rather strangely as I cackle dementedly over my keyboard now, but damn do inside jokes crack me up.  
> ~MUI


	25. A Barrel of Laughs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh Bill, you shouldn't be such a dick to your future in-laws.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A healthy warning of gore level 9. Honestly it would probably be lower if it weren't for the area inflicted, I know a lot of people are squeamish over eyes, so just a friendly heads up. Don't want my readers fainting mid-paragraph. 
> 
> It's Tuesday, and what does Tuesday mean? No, not that it's one day after Monday (although it means that too). It's Tuesday and that means it's...*Banners unfurl and all are temporarily blinded by a shower of poorly planned confetti that falls into the faces of everyone present* 
> 
> MENTAL TRAUMA INFLICTION DAY WOOOOOOOOO
> 
> Spin the wheel and lets see which lucky, lucky character won a highly unhealthy dose of life scarring today!

_“Dipper?” She blinked, sleepily passing a hand over her face, as if hoping to disperse the fog gathered densely round the edges of her lids, eyes pulsing in the slight irritation from the effort of straining through the darkness to better make out the unnatural shape, the name  sticking awkwardly to her tongue and carrying with it an uneasily voiced question._

_The boy standing illuminated in the entrance to her room was both her brother, and **not.**_

_The figure stood upright, darkened ensemble of the pitch hoodie and equally jet slacks hanging limply off his form perfectly in character for some but drastically out of for his own, vividly framed against the buttercup yellow backdrop of Bill’s tailcoat._

_He carried the same wildly tangled mess of curls, same ever-fidgeting hands; same striking mocha eyes that she had grown up around and lived with for eighteen years._

_But rather than pinned in place by the trucker hat he had almost religiously donned for the last six years, that curly hair was swept away, hidden behind the folds of the darkened hood presently marring the sides of his face and casting features into a malicious shadow, the untameable chocolate abnormally slicked back to reveal the seven points he had always been so conscious of and pressingly eager to hide._

_It was then that Mabel realised that Dipper hadn’t worn that blue and white hat. That hat that he would never take off, point blank refused to abandon, not even to accommodate for their school’s highly dated but mostly grudgingly adhered to, no hats rule. He wasn’t wearing it now and she hadn’t seen him wearing it, not for at least the past month._

_And those ever-fidgeting hands that constantly tinkered with the contents of his pockets or ceaselessly drummed across his sides were now restlessly running over what appeared to be the muzzle of a gun held tightly in a fist, knuckles whitened as they clenched over the prized handle._

_And the mocha eyes that had always reminded her of days spent with forms thrown together by the fire happily sharing warmed hot chocolate and poking the latest of each other’s adventure-inflicted bruises, were now as broken as shattered glass, their surfaces faded and unhealthily glazed to a greyed fog, swirled flecks of caramel, the gold hue sickeningly similar to that of the body currently melded into the boy’s shoulder blades, staining the edges of the dull, joyless circles, unblinking as they stared unresponsively through her and to the stretch of wall behind._

_“Dipper?” She tried again, voice cracking slightly beneath the weighing sorrow that only increased under the continued lack of recognition in the broken pupils that blankly met her worry-crinkled own. “Bro bro?”_

_“Oh Shooting Star,” Bill shook his head left and right gently, clucking unhappily as he tutted, his tone overly serious as he admonished her from his place behind Dipper’s head, his arms draped in a possessive lock around the teen’s shoulders. “He’s not your brother anymore. He’s mine now. Always had been, but let’s just say,” Bill paused, birthing an expectant silence that hung heavily around the three and she shuffled in her place, suddenly nervous in her wait for his elaboration. His tongue snaked across his lips as his voice dropped to a hungry whisper, one hand dropping with the tone shift, falling to catch around the front of Dipper’s waist. “We finally made it official.”_

_She gasped, eyes bulging as pupils constricted, unable to contain their horror as Bill’s hand latched around the edges of Dipper’s hoodie and deftly pulled both it and the shirt below straight upwards. She wanted so desperately to look away but her gaze was instantly unwillingly hypnotised by the monstrosity revealed, the exposed lines drawn deeply into the flesh, colour a suspiciously close match to the vital fluid flowing through the bearer’s veins, vibrant crimson a harsh reality against the butchered creamy sheen._

_The crude points joined together to form a…”Triangle.” She keened sharply, lips thrown aside in a mournful groan. Her hands curled into fists that shuddered, any memory of self-control lost in the realisation of their newly found purpose to punch the demon square in the currently coolly smirking mouth. “You fucking carved a triangle into my brother.” Branded. Bill had left his name on her brother like a child did their favourite plaything. And she didn’t even have to breathlessly voice the query stuck in her throat to know that it was permanent._

_The tips of Bill’s bangs fell sloppily over one eye as he shrugged, the ridden up garments somehow remaining in their place as he removed his hand to slowly run an inspecting finger across the offending lines. She found herself unwittingly following the agonisingly paced movement as the tip languidly rose and fell over the teen’s chest. “Think of it as an extra to that insurance. A much needed solution to an extremely irritating problem, and Pine Tree here doesn’t mind, do you kid?”_

_To her amplified horror, Dipper didn’t scream in protest or make any move to run, but_ giggled,  _innocent, childlike glee that bubbled out, bringing a brief lull to their sombre surroundings_   _as Bill’s other hand rose from its throne on his shoulder to playfully ruffle the tops of the hood withholding the freedom of his curls, his body adjusting slightly as his ankles stretched up to lean deeper into the touch, life flickering through finally responsive pupils as a dopey grin clawed his lips apart and yanked gums back in a horribly apt imitation of the exact one Bipper had worn when she’d faced him above the stage all those years ago._

_Six years that may as well have been six centuries._

_Her brother was not only allowing Bill’s touch, but enjoying it. Bile weighed her tongue heavily down. It was sickening to see Dipper acting like some dumb puppy with its senses lost, overridden in the adoration for its master. An adoration she had no doubt that, much like the demon’s brand, had been involuntarily forced upon the teen._

_She staggered, unsteady on her feet as she buckled beneath both literal and mental weight, guilt dragging her down as much as the discovered instability of her legs, mind quickly filling with the horrendous urge to fall to the floor and retch. She didn’t even want to begin to question what nameless horrors to which Dipper must have been subjected before Bill had finally broken him down to such a state. “See?” Bill continued his onslaught of Dipper’s head to the boy’s voiced jubilation. “He loves it.”_

_“I’m going to kill you, Bill.” Mabel snarled, corners of her eye twitching as she fought the increasingly building desire to leap across the room and throttle the calmed conversationalist. “I’m going to kill you and stop exactly what sick game you’ve been playing with my brother.”_

_“Exchanging death threats is always an adequately entertaining way to kill time, Stars, but tonight we’re on a little bit of a tight schedule, so let’s just skip the pleasantries and just get right to the main event.” Bill breezed in his nasally high-pitched tone that was about as enjoyable to listen to as nails driven angrily across chalk; regaling her with a chillingly falsely charming grin._

_“See I wasn’t going to tell you, buuuut," He sang softly, heels snapping violently together as his gaze blazed through her own. "Where would the fun be in that? After all, you were getting awfully close to realising it, and you did make this all possible, avoiding the kid. Tut tut, bad sister.” He giggled, waggling a finger in front of his chest in a crude imitation of a parent that had woken to find their cookie mouth-filled kid stealing from the cupboard. Mabel had the strongest urge to reach out and grab that finger, telling the demon exactly where he could shove it._

_“Leaving your poor little brother oh so lonely.” He crooned, snapping his body in half to drop his face to level with Dipper’s, almost reverently murmuring as he nuzzled into the boy's ear. “But I must thank you for that. It was the last push he needed to send him running straight to me.”_

_Mabel swallowed thickly, her tongue falling uselessly against the roof of her drying mouth. Her fault. It was her fault Dipper was like this. She’d driven him away. Sent him running to Bill who of course would have welcomed him with open arms. Fucking brilliant job Mabel. Dipper’s joined Team Bill and who booted him off Team Pines? You. His own sister._

_“What was the deal, Bill?” She stammered, hoarse voice cracked with grief as it passed through her burning throat. Her eyes welled with tears that she blinked determinedly back, refusing to give the bastard the entertainment of a furthered breakdown. “What did he really give you to save us that day?”_

_The demon laughed then, throwing his head back and cackling violently, as if she’d just uttered the most hilarious joke he had ever heard. He wiped away an invisible tear from the corner of one eye, flicking the imaginary drop away with a passing look of disdain. “Oho that’s rich, kid. Would’ve thought even with your limited brain capacity you would have figured that one out by now. After all, it is so obvious.” He drawled._

_And Bill was right. It was obvious. Painfully so. The brand was the final piece of one entirely messed up jigsaw puzzle that now complete, no matter how hard she wished she could, (and she really wished she could) Mabel couldn’t unsolve._

_Himself. He gave himself to save her. An eye for an eye. One life for another. Dipper’s for her own. She didn’t say it out loud. Couldn’t even if she wanted to, if not her voice but her spirit too broken. But she found that she didn’t need to. Bill knew from her face, from how all expression crumpled as vision blurred and moisture freely flowed, tears breaking across her cheeks, no longer able to be resolutely held back, just as how she knew from his own, from the triumphant smirk that had swept any forced charm or amiability away, from the eyes that sparkled sadistically as they lorded their victory, that they had lost. That her worst suspicions had been confirmed and Dipper really was gone from her, from their family, for good._

_Her brother was just a puppet dancing along to Bill’s strings._

_“Ooh bravo, give the girl a head that's always screaming!” Bill paused in the sarcastic burst of applause he had broken into to thoughtfully tap a finger against the top of his chin in time to the rhythmic slap of shoe on board. “Shame you’re…hmmm about three months too late. There’s hardly anything left of the original Dipper Pines to save now. All this” The finger fell away to gesture proudly to the entirety of Dipper’s form. “Is now Cipher-approved.”_

_“When I finish with you, you’re going to wish you never came to this dimension, Cipher.” Mabel ground out, sincerely wishing she didn't sound as vulnerable as she felt._

_“Oh and that’s another thing. See you’ve been a little bit of a major annoyance lately, thinking all this ‘I’m going to stop Bill. Ooooh look at me I’m going to save my brother from the big bad triangle.” She shivered at the accuracy of Bill’s imitation, easily able to believe she was listening to her own voice recorded and set to playback._

_“And it’s all getting rather dull.” The demon commented drily. “So it’s about time you see exactly who’s in charge. Because newsflash kiddo, it isn't you, it isn’t your brother and it sure as hell isn’t your crackpots of uncles.”_

_“You know the deal, Bill.” Mabel furiously spat the name in unveiled revulsion, hoping that the open disgust would hide her grief and allow the retaining of at least some scrap of remaining dignity as she stood in front of the triangular sadist. “You can’t hurt me or any of the family. Dipper made sure of it.” Unless her brother had lied about that part too._

_No, Mabel mentally chided herself for not trusting her brother’s ability in the English language. While being extremely awkward in his interactions with others, Dipper was also far too smart not to make a deal with Bill without first specifying the demon couldn’t harm their family. And Ford was still alive. That had to mean something in the part’s accuracy._

_“Oh that’s cute.” Bill purred and Mabel, unable to hold in the traitorous shudder that ran up her neck under the demon’s unwavering analytical gaze, flinched. “Sure I may not be able to hurt you. But he can.” Bill giggled as he thumbed in Dipper’s direction. “Play nice with your sister Pine Tree. Show her how much you love the pathetic little excuses for a family.”_

_Animation sprung through the teen as he jerked, as if electrified, life pumping into the previously statuesque figure as the grin splitting his lips widened to an almost impossible degree, the muzzle of the gun lifting as a twitching hand raised, pointed directly towards her chest. “Hey sis. I made up a game.”_

_Fear took hold, the icy chill that spread numbly through her limbs leaving her frozen in terrified paralysis. She mewled a whimper as Not-Dipper – because she refused to accept that the broken body in front of her was her actual brother and not some nightmarish creation of Bill’s, just as she refused to accept that this was anything other than some sick, twisted dream Bill had employed as punishment for her continued efforts to stop whatever he was planning – ambled towards her in heavily booted steps, not stopping until he was close. Far too close for comfort._

_She breathed heavily as he broke into her personal space to push his face against her own. “It’s called how much does this hurt.” His own giggle echoed Bill’s. it was a despairingly accurate personification of the demon’s insanity. “Wanna hear how to play?”_

_She mutely shook her head. An action he ignored, continuing despite her show of reluctance. “It’s easy really, I just fire this,” he proudly held up the object in his hand. Years of being round Soos had inevitably led to at least a basic understanding of the handyman’s trade and arsenal of equipment. So as the object was wafted below her nose she was able to recognise it as a nail gun with relative ease. “And you tell me how much it hurts.”_

_“It’s a good game. Hours of family fun.” Bill chipped happily in from behind to Dipper’s delight, the boy's expression brightening in an extension of the goofy grin that had exploded across his lips, desolated pupils lacking any semblance of sanity sharpening and gleaming._

_The comment was seemingly the only encouragement he needed, as upon its utterance, he tackled her roughly to the floor, her skull screeching in protest as air whistled briefly past her ears before it suddenly found itself rammed roughly against the floorboards. He was on top of her before she could move, his legs pinning her sides in place as he leaned over her, his hand running down her weakly protesting arm._

_“Dipper, it’s Mabel. Your sister.” She whimpered, huffed breaths ragged in their fear as he pushed the nail gun against her left hand, the metal cool against her heated skin. A faint flicker of hope carved through the racing terror that had overthrown all senses as he paused, fingers stilling as he finally, finally met her eyes, finally seeing her, rather than a blank space, blinking slowly, as if waking up from whatever Bill had done to him and she breathed heavily, relieved and exhausted as she finally managed to reach him…_

_…before once again pupils dulled, staring rigidly through her as he intoned in a low deadpan, “You’re playing wrong.” And pulled the trigger._

_For the first time since the beginning of the nightmare Mabel forgot her fury. She forgot everything except pain as the pressuring weight pulled against her hand twitched then exploded, the only warning to the sharpened object that leapt from the muzzle and speared through her bone, ripping away flesh with ease and driving into then through, the whitened lines of joints, erupting out the other side and nailing her_ fucking hand to the floor _._

_Her teeth scraped angrily against her lips as she fought to silence any reaction that may give her unwanted audience pleasure, a metallic taste flooding her mouth as rusted copper dripped from the self-inflicted gashes now etched angrily against the previously smoothed gloss-licked surface. But even then she was unable to contain the howl that ripped through her so violently she could easily have believed it had been Not-Dipper’s hand that had reached down her throat and yanked the sound roughly out._

_She clenched her jaw and gathered what little strength remained to summon the best attempt at a glare she could scrounge in between the blinding panic building in her throat, throwing the look of pure loathing to the direction of Bill who had taken up residence on her bed, his body pressed against the tops of her bedazzled covers as he lay lazed on his front, elbows flipped up, head supported in a neat cage of twisted fingers and feet kicked childishly behind him as they swung back and forth in the air._

_As if satisfied with her response, Dipper smiled. Though Mabel couldn’t really tell through the tears angrily spearing her vision. Her hand had gone numb. A relief, she guessed, from the agony that had slashed her senses and temporarily left her mind in disrepair. Was this what Bill had done to Dipper to make him a willing slave? Or had he gone through so much worse? Her teeth slid out from the sides of her cheeks they had sunken into. Was there even something worse than this?_

_Apparently so, because she felt the weight lift from her left hand and move to her nononononononononononononono. “Dipper.” She rasped desperately, knowing full well it was futile but determined to at least try to reason with the crazed teen as the gun hovered over her right palm, her eyes scrunching shut as her pleas were met with  a silence disrupted only by her own ragged breaths tearing from her abused throat._

_Once more the weapon twitched and juddered, bucking against the flesh that seconds later had ripped apart, and someone was howling – hardly registering that it was her howling – as her legs twisted and kicked in a useless attempt to dislodge the person sitting over them, instinct dictating she try to curl up into a ball but she found she couldn’t; held too tightly in place by the nails that had now driven through both her hands and effectively clipped her wings, allowing for bare movement and locking her to the ground._

_“Oh no, big sis.” He sang as her lids fluttered, snapping unwillingly over pupils as unconsciousness – could you even pass out in a dream? She guessed she was about to find out – beckoned, its siren call made all the more appealing in its promise of relief from the current bolts of inflicted agony running along her person._

_His fingers pushed apart, lightly grazing her cheeks in a sickly loving gesture that was almost more painful than the metal hooked drilled through her flesh in its teasing affection, before they hardened, pressing together as they backhanded the space previously so caringly caressed and she yelped, head snapping to the side to the horrendous ringing crack as skin met skin. “No going to sleep just yet.”_

_She panicked, giving completely into the wave of terror that had wrapped around her mind and warped her thoughts as his fingers traced her neck, rising up her cheek once more to hold the nail gun over her eye, and she found herself locked into a grossly unwanted staring match with the inanimate object._

_Dipper grinned manically, a smile that wouldn’t have seemed out of place on Cipher’s own lips, a loose giggle rumbling in his throat as his fingers tightened across the trigger and she shuddered in a tangled mix of fear and disgust, knowing painfully well exactly what was only seconds away._

_Her struggles to move increased in strength as dismay built, her body floundering frantically, her hand yanking sharply upwards, away, any possible direction that might mean escape, not caring if the entire wrist snapped to leave the part nailed in place behind.  Her mouth threw open, a screech already building as above her gaze she felt the gun press deeper, quivering in anticipation before the shot released, the tool springing back hard._

_If the previous shots had hurt then this was agony. A thousand, a million, times worse than the past firings. Her throat burned, a stream of gasoline ignited by the tossing of a match as a screech – barely categorical as human – shredded her lungs, her hands pulling forwards despite their weighing restraints, fingernails desperately scraping against harsh wood, overtaken by the urge to reach up and scratch her eye out, if only to stop the pain, the searing pain inside her head that if left would drive her to the brink of sanity and beyond, as the point of the nail drove through, the thinned layers protecting the body part rupturing, surrendering with ease to the unnatural force of the assailant now jamming its way through her pupil._

_She could feel it, it wasn’t like those in her hands that locked her in place, this one was different, driven inside her, the head of the nail buried, visible in the gooey mangled remains as half her vision stuttered and fell suddenly to darkness as if someone had flicked one of two light-switches out in her brain, globs of the cracked sphere mingling with blood to form a thick paste that oozed from around the metal and spattered in lengthy droplets, the force of the entry depositing the sprayed goo upon the bridge of her nose and around the edges of her lips._

_She tried to shut out the echoing sounds of the softened squelch as the sphere punctured, that had shifted to a harsh, hardened crunch as the nail drilled through the ball and embedded itself deeply into the socket behind. Unable to do so, nausea quickly built, cheeks puffing out as they attempted to keep the threateningly rising slick down._

_If her hands were free and a gun was near she would gladly raise it to her face and joyously yank the trigger. Her head was on fire; ignited flames rising, fuelled by the presence of a foreign object her mind protested should not be there and that remained there, bound scrabbling hands unable to claw out._

_She weakly lifted her head, shoulders heaving and body lurching forward as much as able, dull lips parted as she hacked up a cough, the limply raised gaze met by flecks of crimson and chunks of vomit that spattered the edges of Dipper’s hoodie. What little vision that remained was fading fast as despite protesting flesh buzzing in annoyance as boards carved angrily into skin from her position pushed deeply into the floor she found herself hurled to a dizzy free-fall._

_She swallowed to the loudly announced dismay of a hardened lump that had formed along the insides of her throat. Dying. She realised numbly, her mind slipping into a near-sedated state. She was dying._

_“Now there’s a good girl.” She barely heard Bill’s voice, the condescending words disjointed, slurring together as they sleepily filtered through her woollen-stuffed ears. Her one remaining eye blinked blearily through its daze, all focus of surroundings slipping as sharpened images descended into watery outlines, remnants of her cracked mind vaguely registering the shadow that fell over the rapidly spinning world as something hard sank against the opposite side of her face, the invader tensing as they snapped forward to the release of a ringing shot and once more her universe spiralled away as musicians raised their instruments and began the symphony of pain anew._

* * *

She bolted upright, fingers trembling as they clutched at the sides of her face, nails embedding into flesh to leave miniature crescents when finally withdrawn, panic spearing through her heart and forcing a breathless screech as for one horrible moment all she saw was a fogged darkness, before her eyes blinked and adjusted to the lack of light, spiked heart rate steadying as she realised with a strangled moan of relief the dark was not one single shade of coal as originally thought, but many, each identifiable as slightly darker or lighter than their predecessor.

She flexed her fingers then skimmed them across her palms with bated breath, half expecting to meet the cool touch of metal halfway across the sweated plains.

It was with huge relief that she found nothing, and pulled herself from the sanctuary of her covers, pattering across bloodstain-free floorboards, skittering worries calmed as a quick glance sneaked from a quickly ducked head pressed to a narrowed gap of her cracked ajar door revealed Dipper’s own remained shut, signalling the continuation of her brother’s sleep-induced state.

She padded downstairs, each creak of the steps invoking a shudder that ran up her spine and clenched angrily at her heart. Her fingers twitched, involuntarily stuttering at her sides. She needed a glass of Mabel Juice. She needed three glasses of Mabel Juice. At least.

She woodenly stumbled through her daily routine, pausing in her seat at its end to realise that she had just flicked the kettle into life (an action completed twice already before), that the butter-battered knife had missed the slice of bread, dropping globs of spread over the freshly decorated surface of the counter (the presence of a grainy slice entirely absent) and that she’d set the table for five (though feverishly wishing for the sole need of one).

She pressed herself deeper into the bottom of her chair as a clunk of movement to her side signalled the approaching end to her desired isolation. She prepared herself for the entry of Bill or Dipper – remaining entirely unsure as to which would be met with the most dread – before relaxing as the hulking form of a Grunkle filled the doorway.

Stan grunted a greeting and she morosely chipped one back, hoping that the joyless tone would be mistaken for an upheaval at the early rising. Stan seemed to reach such an explanation as he angrily scratched the side of his head and muttered a somewhat forced, “Rough night?” to which she gratefully nodded, returning to the bowl set at her front surrounded by two spoons and a fork, happily receiving no further interrogation.

She hid a shudder of dismay behind a shiver at the lowered temperature, numbed fingers pulling the edges of her sweater closer to her flinching skin. In the sides of her vision Stan huffed out an angry growl as he pulled a chair roughly to the table, the legs scraping hollowly against the protesting floor. One meaty hand rubbed restlessly over stubble. “No more going out unattended.” She nodded, once again soundlessly voicing a confirmation. Experience by now had taught her to simply swallow her tongue and allow him to speak, letting the man’s paranoia run its course and only interrupting to agree when necessary.  

He mopped his creased brow before pushing battered squared spectacles over the hook of his nose. “This sicko's a real monster. They found the latest victim. Poor guy, crucified to his bedroom floor-“ Stan broke suddenly off, worry heavy in its lacing of his tone as he leaned concernedly towards his great niece. “Sweetie, are you alright?”

Across the table, Mabel’s eyes widened, bulging in their place wildly, the girl brokenly gasping for air as she choked on her unusually glitter-free cereal.

* * *

Bill allowed a small sigh of satisfaction to escape his lips, staring otherwise wordlessly at the form sharing the bed, their feline curves dipping with all the exaggerated grace of a poised dancer as they lay nestled between the blankets, slumped on their side, one half of their face smooshed clumsily into the main guts of a downy pillow, brown shag sticking over the edges of an eye blearily pulled open to the lazy smile below, written across painted lips, the bottom of the surfaces chapped ever so slightly in a hint of the owner’s adorable habit.

He reached out and petted Dipper’s head gently, to the boy’s tired groans. The shared covers heaved in protest, duvet lightly moaning as the teen shifted the bulk of their weight to gratefully lean into the touch, pressing his forehead eagerly into the cupped palm and practically purring as Bill’s fingers began to expertly slide through the unruly curls.

A wide grin licked across the demon’s lips as the opened mocha orb opposite him brightened, the  chocolate present at the centre of the sphere burning away to a glorious gold that swam across the hazel pane, burnished amber invading, then overtaking the milky swirl.

His hand fell to rest against the side of Dipper’s skull, the boy mewling in protest at the ceased show of affection, the majority of gathered joints constricting inwards on themselves as thumb and forefinger popped out in their forming of a crude finger gun that pressed to the space above Dipper’s ear, the man mouthing the word  _bang_ softly as he gently flicked the trigger.

Like shooting paralyzed fish in a barrel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What could be worse then that huh? That’s probably what you’re thinking. Or calling me a monster for what I just subjected bubbly bright, probably-not-so-bubbly-now, Mabel to. 
> 
> Well apparently something, because next chapter hits gore level 10. Remember when I said everything is downhill from here? Yeah, really did mean that. I won't be offended if some of you skip a chapter, this one's gonna get explicitly detailed and extremely violent. 
> 
> Bill's going to find the entire thing delightfully hilarious as always, meanwhile I will continue to pretend that despite somehow coming out with all this I remain a (relatively) sane human being. Hah, I can't even say (or type) that with a straight face. 
> 
> That being said I look forward to seeing those of you who still have filled stomachs left on Thursday and as I depart I shall leave with this ever philosophical question:
> 
> How many people know how to tie a neck tie the Cipher way?  
> (Bizarrely random, right?)  
> I bid thee adieu,  
> ~MUI


	26. Jack and Jill Ran up the Hill, when Bill Murdered their Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Jill ran up the hill,   
> When Bill murdered their father.  
> The two kids looked back, jaws a slack,  
> As an insane Dipper came stalking after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its gonna get rough kiddos. Gore level 10, and major squeamishness - two words, Sicilian Necktie, so if you didn’t like the last chapter I’d advise giving this one a miss, you’re safe up to the first black line but pass that point at thine own peril.
> 
> You’ve been warned. For those who do make it, see you on the other side, hopefully while retaining some remnants of sanity.

Emergency family meeting. That’s what Ford had called – not Stan. For once it had been the scientist not the salesman, to stand at the bottom of the stairs and holler a summons to all inhabitants.

The subject of aforementioned meeting was pretty obvious – even to her. Ford had been rambling on about his ‘breakthrough’ for the past two weeks, but so far Dipper’s bed-ridden condition had prevented any information from being spilt. Whatever was to be announced was to be announced when all were present.

If she’d been making an effort to avoid Dipper before she was now running from him as if she were a juicy steak and he a ravenous, half-starved wolf, too afraid that if she met those eyes she would see the same broken expression that now haunted her dreams reflected back.

The nights since Bill’s ‘warning’ had passed uneasily, with her eyes straining through leaping shadows that twisted the corners of her mind and took the unwelcome form of the ever dapper not-so gentleman, her hands bunched into tightened fists as she curled into pathetically flimsy covers that would offer no resistance if the demon so chose to flaunt his power, knowing full well if he so wished Bill could crush her like a gnat.

Luckily Mabel hadn’t found herself subjected to further rounds of How Much Does This Hurt? in the past evenings. No, she just had to live with the guilt. The heavy guilt that weighed upon her shoulders as if forced to bear the brunt of the entire world on her back, despairing in the knowledge that Dipper was gone and she was entirely to blame for it.

Guilt, and the growing suspicion that Gravity Falls’ newest and most famous mystery resident was none other than her sweet little brother, twisted so far out of recognition by the demon that frequented the tops of the kitchen counter to enjoy the latest conquest of snacks snagged from the furthest reaches of their creaky old fridge.

Part of her – a hopelessly unrealistic part that even now desired to wallow in at least some manner of ignorance – clung futilely to the idea that it was all just an unfortunate series of coincidences. That it was simply by some luckless chance that a victim had been found killed in the exact same experience she had shared only the night before their body’s discovery – bound to their bedroom floor by a series of nails drilled through their palms and shot through both eyes.

Except this time the killer had left a calling card; the inscription of an eye similar to that of the Egyptian one she had glimpsed occasionally when peering over Dipper’s shoulder in huffed broadcast annoyance that he was choosing some dumb nerd book over  _her_ , clawed into the poor person’s chest in a painful parallel of the brand Bill had left across his conquest, and if that didn’t leave the serial murderer’s identity obvious then the loping handwriting scrawled sloppily in a darkened scarlet across the walls sure did.

The message of ‘Always watching’ had baffled the police, but it left each member of the Pines family with no inkling of a doubt as to exactly which nightmare it was that was currently quite literally painting the town red.

Which was why as soon as Ford got a hold of the latest edition of the newspaper the entire family found themselves called into attendance as they once more huddled around the insufficiently sized kitchen table and listened to the man’s incoherent mutterings.

Mabel pushed herself uncomfortably back into her seat, her shoulder blades flinching upon coming into contact with the hardened wooden rungs behind as her eyes nervously shifted to follow the speaker.

Days on end squirrelled away in his laboratory had done little for the great-uncle’s already poor health. His skin hung gaunt, the sallow flesh dripping in sags from jutted bones, the lines of which etched clearly against the whitened pallor that had overthrown the previous lightened tan in clear indication of exactly how long had passed since the bearer had last seen any form of sunlight. His eyes lay puffed and furiously swollen behind cracked goggles, their straps pulled tautly over clumps of greased hair.

A quick glance to her side revealed Stan’s condition was hardly an improvement to his brother’s. His own eyes were equally as bloodshot, whilst hours spent in anxious worry had left a permanent frown crinkled across the brow currently soaked in perspiration as meaty stubs swept harshly across its expanse, the stumps pausing to dab roughly at the sides of his face before dropping to wrench across the bottom of his chin.

Of the assembled group she suspected only Bill and Dipper who in comparison to the twins looked absolutely ecstatic, bore no pending membership to the ranks of the walking dead. Mabel was sure her own sombre expression and air of defeat matched that of her two guardians’ and would have had the apocalyptic scavenger shooting on sight.   

She tried to concentrate. She really, really did. But concentrating on a zany old Grunkle was extremely difficult when your brother is sitting opposite you in the demon that terrorised your family’s lap in a sickening imitation of a cat curled to its master's knee. And looking like he’s thoroughly enjoying himself. The demon he had been brainwashed by. And possibly slept with. And confessed his love for.

Mabel's semi-controlled breaths lapsed as a shudder barged up her neck.

Oh god, her brother might have lost his virginity to Bill Cipher.

Oh god, her brother might really be in love with Bill Cipher.

Well, fuck.

Bill’s gaze broke momentarily away from the shape pressed into his front to meet her own, a smug lick of satisfaction carving at his lips as one eye languidly closed in a lazy wink and she stiffened in indignation. The legs of her chair scraped angrily against the boards as she barely contained the urge to leap across the table and deck him in the very eyes that were currently doubling for speakers in the broadcasting of his victory.

His interest in the top of Dipper’s head returned and she angrily forced her own back to the man currently stood in front, their features animated as they spouted off rushed lengthy sentences, a new dread settling uneasily in her stomach as she forced her attention and successfully caught the sentence halfway in time to hear “Didn’t think it was possible for him to escape any way other than the portal.”

The sense of dread doubled as Ford reached into the vast sea of pockets the lab coat and withdrew a wicked blaster gun thingy. His eyebrows knitting together dangerously as he paused, seemingly for affect, locking eyes with each of the group, before announcing, expression set in a grim stone, “I can only conclude that Bill Cipher has returned to Gravity Falls.”

To her front Dipper stiffened and Bill reassuringly carded a hand through his curls. Ford’s expression remained a close match to that of a funeral director’s; Stan’s arms were folded to his chest in a tight prison.

Well fuck.

 

* * *

 

Dipper massaged his temples, allowing for a small huff of frustration to escape his tailored breaths. With his continued forced employment in the dusty gift shop today had not been a good day, but the knowledge that Ford was onto them had only made the bad day so much  _worse._

The message was the clincher. He had protested it was leaving it far too obvious ('Always watching' was as good as spray painting 'Bill Cipher was here, PS Ford's a dick' all across the front of the Mystery Shack) but Bill had waved him off. He figured a final confrontation was inevitable – Ford may be ever so slightly past his prime in terms of sanity, but he was smart. Too smart to not eventually work out that Bill had somehow escaped and was happily rampaging around the town.

He knew this would happen; this part of the game would come to an end and they would realise, they had to at some point, even with two of the three’s mental limitations and he’d have to face his family- no he’d have to leave his family. Permanently.

And oh how he wanted to.

Maybe he should have felt something; some flicker of guilt or inkling of resentment towards the reason why he had come to such a state (the reason that was currently lounged against the streetlamp, their face illuminated by the dying strangled buzz of weak amber glow, features drawn in semi-innocent childish wonder to the multitude of droplets slicking their bangs and dribbling into their hooded eyes).

It was common knowledgeof course, that any kid handed a knife and told to go murder their closest relatives should instantly back away and leg it down the street or to the nearest payphone to call the cops on whoever had handed them said weapon. If not outright reject the idea when introduced to it, they should at least feel in some way bad in even entertaining it a possibility.

But he didn’t. When thinking about killing his family Dipper didn’t feel bad in the slightest. No, it was with eager anticipation that he awaited the day the demon would finally,  _finally_ allow him to cut some family ties. And necks.

Bill was right, just as the omniscient entity always was. He didn’t need any of the people who had so selfishly used him for their own gains only to toss him to the side when finished.

He so desperately wanted to kill Ford. To lock the fingers that flexed at his front around the scientist’s throat and  **squeeze** as the life drained from his sight. The man was such an arrogant asshole that the sentiment would be shared with anyone unfortunate enough to share the same breathing space as the crackpot pensioner for anything exceeding a minute. 

And Stan had it coming as much as his stuck-up brother; trust took years to build but mere seconds to leave so decimated the pieces could never possibly be hoped to find repair. The rift that had opened between himself and the Grunkle that first fateful summer had set them on this course of a train wreck. A collision was imminent. Stan’s deception to his younger self had decided that.  

And then, of course, there was his own twin.

Mabel.

Dear little Mabel Pines. The bitch he had sacrificed everything for and had nothing to show because of it. Socialite superstar, selfish shitfaced slut. He had given his own soul to save her and how had she thanked him? By going behind his back. Again. By treating him as some ignorant brat who hadn’t spent six years of their life in the field of actively fighting creatures double their size. By spitting on any happiness he had found with Bill.

Every time he saw her the flash of her shadow scamper off to the opposite distance – shadow not person, because even now she refused to even look him in the eye – it was so tempting to simply mutter an ignis and be done with it.

After all, Shooting Stars were just small rapidly moving meteors burning up on entry to the earth's atmosphere. Their remains always had to hit the ground at some point.

But what had made the day such a bad one was not his prolonged enslavement to the whims of Stanley nor the constant boot licking he was forced to endure in the hopes of extorting an additional five dollars from some hick tourist.

What had made the bad day so  _unbearable_ was that Ford, even knowing Bill’s return, had seemed almost confident in his address, brandishing a blaster whipped from his person with a sting of pride and a hint of the former glory days, leaving Dipper just a little closer in the belief that the man who now resolutely refused to leave the Shack’s front porch without taking with him half of an exceedingly large armoury, had once skipped through dimensions like hopscotch and battled the worst each could throw. How as if even in his faded mind he had managed to create something that could actually stop, worse,  _kill_ , his master.

And Dipper did not like that. Not one bit.

Bill of course, was his usual over confident self. But Dipper – loathe as he was to admit it – retained one aspect that still linked his reluctant person to the Pines gene pool. His family-inherited paranoia had returned with a forceful vengeance, his anxiety thrown into overdrive after the meeting, and even now he was filled with the inexplicable worry that something could go very, very wrong.

He snarled, unleashing the rage pent up over the past days on some hapless pebble that had been slightly too near the toe of his sneaker for its fortunes, the rock twirling as its face spun on each impact with the ground to a series of hardened thuds that snapped his companion from their blissful reverie.

He ignored the eyebrow that snaked delicately upwards at his sudden lapse in temperament, choosing to surrender his post against the bricked wall, bunch his shoulders and stalk down the drive of the house they had been staking out on and off for the past week.

For the area it resided in the place was lavish. It was by far incomparable to Pacific’s residency, none of the town’s abodes could possibly hope to compete in the same league as the Northwest’s over excessive, multi-million manor, but unlike the majority of the town’s supposed high quality housing, the paint was well-kept, the house was decently sized and looked to be in a good condition. The hedges were neatly trimmed and there was even in a miniature pond to the front left of the heavily bolted door, the epitome of a family friendly, warm home.

For having a backyard a stone’s throw away from a hive of supernatural activity, the place was almost normal. It reminded him painfully of Piedmont and he bit back a flare of vehemence, desiring full well to tear each of the happily painted bricks away from their posts and watch the entire place fall into collapsed ruin.

He settled for toppling a near petrified garden gnome sentry – ugh, could you get anything possibly more cliché? – The tackily painted face smashing into oblivion as his lips curled in disgust.

“Pine Tree 1, masonry 0.” Bill intoned drily, sharing an equal enthusiasm to the commentary as Dipper had in reaction to Stan's attempts to get his great nephew into the pleasures of garbled narrations of football matches as he caught up to the seething teen who gave no response, experimentally tapping the edges of the tunnel of drainpipe before wrapping his body to the tube and shimmying up it.

He didn’t give much thought to stealth as he smashed the window across to his side and swung across, heaving himself onto the ledge and slipping inside.

He dusted shrapnel off his shins as he waltzed through the hall in an effort to look at least presentable to his unknowing audience. He tested the handle nearest and ducked his head through, pleased to have found the master bedroom first attempt.

“Fuck off.” It was vulgar and lacked any indication of the speaker being anything other than some brainless violent yob who had just smashed his way in but he wasn’t in the mood for any sort of finesse. To put it bluntly he just really, really wanted to kill someone. Preferably in some extremely painful way to sate the depravity he had accepted long ago as a part of him.

He barked a second growl to the woman currently plastered to the bed’s headboard, her face coated in a sheen of sweat as her eyes bulged in terror as they locked with the intruder.

The bitch – wife, he guessed, from the notably extreme lack of clothing and thin bronzed strip banded around a manicured finger – didn’t need a third warning, her hair falling limply at her back as she nodded numbly, fingers snatching a scrap of fabric from the depths of a wicker seat to retain some form of dignity as she scampered past, barely giving a second glance to her supposedly love-of-life husband as she darted away, probably off to hurriedly rouse the children cooped in the nursery off to the hall’s side and escape to the SUV poorly stashed in the drive out front.

Till death do you part. Or till the first crazed murderer comes knocking. Unexpected pregnancy, serial killer, commitment. Any signs, so much as a whiff, and one half of that oh so loving couple were bolting it for the hills.

Trust and loyalty were two words often thrown about quite casually. It was sickening to witness how easily two so close would abandon the other to have a chance at saving their own skin.

The remaining half of the now broken marriage flinched as he cracked his knuckles loudly, stepping from the shrouded darkness and into the dimly lit room.

The man was a runner not a fighter. A couple of ill-fated turns of the game had Dipper easily knowing the differences. Fighters were rougher, brasher. Their forms were better built, their muscles more filled out. Runners were the lankier of the two, leaner, more sinewy. They had some muscle but those in the arms were less pronounced; the majority of the carved lines focused instead through bulged thighs and shins.

This was a man Dipper knew well. One of the many who so desperately resorted to bribes in their hopes of buying their way out. He had the beginnings of a pot belly forming in the stretch of flabs sticking to his hips; his arms were similarly inflated and filled in a show of suggested comfort rather than power. He was not a fighter nor would he make a particularly efficient runner. Dipper suspected the only times Kelvin Reyes had ever so much as jogged was to cash in the latest comically sized cheque before the bank closed that day or to catch the last servings of pigs in blankets - lumps of bacon he could quite easily be related to - at the company Christmas dinner.  

As expected Reyes made no move to escape, in fact the man remained utterly still, regarding him with a passing glance of contempt as surprise shifted to an arrogant sneer that Dipper thoroughly looked forward to removing.

“How much?” Reyes drawled. “I can double whatever they’re paying you.”

Dipper barely held back the snorted  _called it_. He settled for a bored expression of indifference, closely mirroring Reyes’ own. “No one’s paying me anything to do anything.” He answered silkily, taking a step closer to the man who was – he noted smugly – beginning to shake as the notion that maybe money couldn’t save his skin from this, began to take ahold of Reyes’ mind.

“It’s just I’ve had a really bad day. And I really want to kill someone. And Bill says you’re a pretty shitty guy.”

From behind he swore he heard the demon who must have materialised at some point – if he had ever truly left in the first place – mutter a gritted “Deal breakers. Understatement of the fucking century.”  Apparently Reyes had done some unspeakable thing to tick the demon off mightily, because when the assignment came up Dipper had been ordered to ‘make it hurt like a shit ton of bricks falling on the piggy's face.’ An order he was only too happily to comply to.

Reyes tried to run then, either recognising the name – the chances that he really must have pissed Bill off rose drastically as at the name’s mention all colour promptly drained from their face – or coming to the conclusion that no, his chequebook would not be a way of weaselling out of this one.

He watched the man struggle, fear and adrenaline combining as he pushed his sagging body from the mattress, stumps of arms and legs flailing as he clumsily jumped up, his efforts failing majestically as growing bored of the pathetic attempt, Dipper forced an increase in concentration, brow furiously twisting as he muttered “torque” and Reyes’s rounded body fell back into the lump of covers, prevented from any part of movement save for a flailing of fattened flipper-like feet by a series of glowing cyan chains that had snared the tubbed lard from the neck down in their grip like a coiled bright cerulean blue boa constrictor.

He regarded the trussed up, over-fattened turkey with revulsion, a giggle of slight amusement forming at the back of his throat as Reyes thrashed, fat rolling as he sought to escape the bonds. The exertion of energy on Reyes’ part lasted for roughly two minutes before the man came to a stop with a frustrated growl, his form slumping against his confines in surrender, exhausted.

He hacked out a weak cough, glaring at his captor in a look that held about as much intimidation as a frightened kitten. “You monster.” The effect of the insult was severely weakened by the pitiful state of the speaker and the fearful stammered tone employed.

“Oh, I’m the monster?” Dipper questioned sarcastically, drawing closer to Reyes as he leaned over the immobilized man. “You’re married. You have kids. A dog.” He punched a finger angrily to Reyes’ chest. “Yet you go out every night and drug girls, bring them back to your flat and fuck them senseless on their beds, fuck them then run a knife through their chest and ditch their body in a dumpster behind some alley before your family gets home.” He paused in his tirade, breathing deeply and staring through Reyes with unbridled hatred. “So I’m telling you, one monster to another,” His hand dipped into the folds of his hoodie and revealed the star of tonight’s show – a solidly built sledgehammer he had snatched from Soos’s old work room, drawing the weapon fluidly despite its weight, as if having conjured it from thin air. “That this is going to hurt.”

He thoughtfully rapped the edges of the thinned cylindrical handle across his whitened knuckles, stepping back slightly before one hand swooped down to pull at Reyes’ exposed swollen feet.

“This little piggy went to market.” Dipper purred in a sickening rendition of the tale. If it weren’t for the weapon raised threateningly or the bug-eyed scrawl of horror across the bound captive, any onlooker would easily be able to believe the scene was simply a parent lovingly addressing their child before the sweet slip into unconsciousness.

Dipper’s thumb and forefinger gripped the first toe, prising it apart from its juddering four companions as he gave the rounded top a playful squeeze before bringing the hammer gripped loftily above his head down in a sharp, swift arc with all his might.

**Ker-crunch**

Fourteen pounds of solid metal met bone.

Reyes jerked upwards against his bonds but found no purchase of movement, his eyes twisting to roll back, lids snapping over whitened pupils as his mouth threw open and let rip an agonised bestial roar, the howl falling silent as lips wrenched and shuddered, heavy breaths panted out beneath a whimper.

From his viewpoint – the same wicker chair that had held the fled woman’s garments – Bill giggled, informing him of a job being done and being done  _well._ Dipper gave the mangled bone a satisfied pat before his fingers swooped across to catch the next toe in the ordered line. It struggled futilely in his grip, the stub of nail tearing into his softened flesh tips, but his hold remained, the lock as strong as ever as he gave the limb a jaunty wiggle. “This little piggy stayed home.”

**Ker-crunch**

He paused, Reye’s tortured howls briefly lost to an unwelcome reminiscence as a memory surfaced and he, unexpecting of the returned vision, forced along its path.  _His mother, her body pressed into his own and Mabel’s as they lay together in a tightened sandwich, her hands reaching easily over the small forms pushed against the top of the bed to catch both of their feet in a series of merciless strokes to the two’s defiant shouts managed through huffed giggles._

He snarled, pulling himself from the slump early, patience wearing as he yanked the next toe to the slaughter and slammed the hammer, the crunch of metal on bone resounding around the enclosed walls, explicitly audible over the gutted moans erupting steadily from Reye’s lips, the man unable to dredge anything other than a half formed whine.  “This little piggy had roast beef.”

**Ker-crunch**

 

Drop his grip. Grab the next toe. Hammer down. Move on. He didn’t take his time now, hurriedly moving through each in the hopes of somehow outrunning the memory that threatened to surface once more. He doubted Reyes would complain much about this new pace anyway. 

“This little piggy had none.” He hissed angrily.

**Ker-crunch**

 

His fingers tightened as they snared around Reyes' fattest toe, choking it in his iron hold.

“And this little piggy cried, wee.”  **Crunch.**  “Wee.”  **Crunch.**  “Wee.”  **Crunch.**  “All the way home.”

With each stressed syllable he slammed the hammer down, repeatedly striking the same area until all that was left between his fingers was the deformed remains of something that had once been Reyes’s big toe, the pulverised outsides half-liquefied and opened to reveal the greyed tint of fractured bone snapped and shattered into fragments.

“F…..u….c…..k……y……o…..u…..” The elder rasped, each letter dragged out almost entirely silent in their agonised whisper. It was barely loud enough to rise over the wheezed pained mewls that resembled those from a puppy just kicked in the face, but Dipper was surprised – and mildly impressed – that Reyes, with the amount of searing agony that must be completely frazzling his nerves, was still able to even manage any part of coherent conversation.

Dipper’s hands met in a hollowed bout of applause as he tossed the hammer aside, the weight landing across the room with a rather telling thunk as the brunt of the metal, surface now stained an equally telling burgundy, sank into plush carpet. Fingers slipped gracefully to his pockets, returning to Reyes’ sight with the addition of his ever faithful hunting knife.

He flipped the blade into the narrowed rift between the nail and decimated flesh, driving the knife further down and at the same time levering up, Reyes’ body clenching as his mouth frothed, flecks of spit flying as the nail released, coming undone to the gush of insides held in place beneath.

He moved the blade to Reyes’ ankles, taking pleasure in the long strips drawn as he rendered the flesh obsolete in his loving caress, flaying the skin in caring licks from their clinging grips of bleached bones.

Reyes’ lids fluttered and Dipper growled out a warning.  _Stay awake or else_. Warning unheeded, Reyes floated further to the blackout, and Dipper – considering the man fairly warned – tutted unhappily. Feeling it only fair punishment, he speared the knife deeply into the middle of Reyes’ foot, ripping him from any possibility of offered comfort in losing consciousness.

The end of the pointed tip lodged itself deeply past the skin and through unwilling taut bone. Reyes supplied a silenced scream as Dipper allowed the blade to remain embedded, taking great satisfaction as Reyes writhed, sweat flooding from rolls of fat to mingle with the pooled blood the man disgustingly lay in like a pig lathered in its own muck, before he yanked the handle back up.

Seeing no need for the bindings – it wasn’t like Reyes was in any shape to walk, let alone run, away – Dipper banished the chains, allowing the previously bound elder enough time to hope the ordeal over before digging the knife into the side of his heel, snipping Reyes’ Achilles tendons for good measure, and wrenching up in a jagged line drawing brightened pinks of goo against the paled shaking flesh that flaked away beneath the sheer power pulling it apart at the seams.

He continued up through his legs and into Reye’s stomach, flicking the blade to a diagonal at his hips to come to a rest inside the slumped decline of his belly button, wisps of organs visible in the circled gash as he burrowed deeper through the linings, dipping into flimsy guts that melted softly at the metallic touch.

Reye’s form jerked, thrown into a series of spasms, the brightly oranged face now a sickly shaded grey. Dipper had read once that the human body couldn’t survive losing anything past six pints of blind of the twelve possessed.  

A quick glance at the crimson flooded sheets led to the estimation that Reyes was absent to roughly four, though in a minute would be steadily approaching the five mark. He figured he had roughly three minutes before Reyes’ heart gave out. If that. He’d practically slashed open the entire length of one major artery.

Reyes babbled inane mewls as he reluctantly pulled the blade out from its place, a shot of annoyance buzzing angrily at the forefront of his mind as Reyes twitched, gasping and flailing on the covers like a dying fish dragged from the water. _S_ _hould have had better control, shouldn’t have gone for the fucking femoral artery you idiot, you knew that would only give you ten minutes._ He realised with a regretful pang playtime was over. He’d have to skip right to the good stuff.

He felt the man flinch beneath the blade as he ghosted the knife across Reyes' neck, completing a full cycle to each side before letting it fall to the jugular. He applied a new weight, a thin ribbon of blood doggedly following the weapon’s journey, cutting a deepened notch to the space beneath the shuddering ear and dragging along to Reyes’s whimpers, finding a weak but in the end futile, resistance.

The flesh clinging to his neck sprung lightly against the new pressure as the weapon curved, cleaving deeply into his throat to lengthened guttural moans, any further protests shortly diminishing under the knife as it fell, ripping the skin beneath apart like tissue to sharpened talons. Incoherent rambles reduced to a stream of ever fading gurgles.

The thinned seal of crimson widened to a released steady stream as the knife pulled the flesh increasingly open, purpled cords of thinly dangled insides visible through their previous butchered coverings.

He dug through the mangled remains, fingertips grasping the edges of a weakly protesting lump that limply attempted to edge away from his grasp. The mass was dampened and slime-coated, slick and wet in his grip. Usually a faded magenta in colouring it was now a sickened pale blue, its surface awash in a brightened crimson. He gave it a short tug, reeling it towards his chest before finding a grounded anchor, loosening his grip before returning to the motion, yanking with a renewed vigour.

The grabbed appendage flopped uselessly against the reddened mess as he teased it with skillful fingers through the pulled apart gap of flesh, twisting and bending the listless heap in a way he had seen circus performers when creating ballooned shapes to form a crude imitation of a bowtie.

His fingers dropped the tongue to briefly grate over Reyes’ clammy scalp in the sort of hesitant pat a passer-by accosts a wandering dog met on the streets with. He gave the corpse a once-over before hauling himself up from the bed and moving towards the door, breathing somewhat laboured beneath his partner’s lustful gaze, Bill’s eyes lingering on the fingers that had moments before so beautifully recreated a signature of his costume.

Feeling superbly vindictive Dipper turned on his heel, in a sudden flash of inspiration striding over to the broken corpse and in one swoop motion deftly slit the eye from the socket, watching the cut sphere with avid interest as it rolled off the blood-eviscerated covers and plopped to the ground to rest at his shoe, before raising his heel and slamming down on the newly freed mass. It gave with little resistance, decimated to a ground pulp that licked at the carpet.

Minutely satisfied, he languidly stretched his arms, pushing his wrists behind his back and to his neck. The punchy roar of an engine sputtering frantically into life stretched the wry smile playing at his corners further. He gently massaged a slight crick that had built up at the side of his neck, coaxing his head gently to the left as he kneaded the flesh into ease.  

He flipped the blade to the air with one hand, briefly tracing the weapon’s movement with his eyes before his second hand shot out to easily snatch the airborne handle as it spun in a third seductive cartwheel. He twirled the knife delicately, over and over in a tight cage of his fingers, the edged tip leaving slight indented pocks on each kissed area.

He let it fall to his side in rest as a hand pushed strayed curls from his eyes and lifted the hood to cover his face, his lips quirking as he followed the familiar tug in his gut and slipped easily into shadow, leaving behind, as always, only the unrecognisable remains of his used-to-be-alive newest acquaintance.

Investigators were stuck clueless - no prints, no DNA, nothing other than an occasional clear point of entry and even then, no fingerprints were left. In all the weeks the case had run they were yet to bring in any suspect. It was as if the killer had slipped away like phantom mist.

His family would know now though. Ford had proclaimed it - Bill was back. Not that Dipper cared much about that right now - paranoia and unfortunately inherited extreme bouts of anxiety could wait. Right now he had some loose ends to cut and an SUV to catch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you guys have been awesome and how do I reward such awesomness? By giving everyone nightmares or an impromptu dash to the nearest bathroom, that’s how. Bad MUI. 
> 
> But seriously, almost 5k hits? Holy hell thank you. When I started this I never expected such a lovely response from each of you all. Just a shame the only way I show my gratitude is entirely sadistic and extremely masochistic. Whoopsies. I’ll buy you chocolates. That’ll make everything better, right?
> 
> You’ll be relieved to know we’re dialling the gore level down in the next chapter, although I can’t promise it’ll be all kittens and rainbows, because well, it’s not. It’s really not.
> 
> This thing has roughly 2 weeks left, so to those of you who have stuck it out this far, well, not long to go. Huhuhuhu.  
> ~MUI


	27. Confessions of a Megalomaniac Ex-Corn Chip*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *with a blood fetish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since we last properly checked in with our antagonist, and I enjoy writing from Bill's POV far too much to allow that particular tragedy to continue any longer. That and some quite major plot had to be explained. 
> 
> Nothing in this one that's gonna damage those lovely minds of yours so stick around till the end if interested to hear some future plans.
> 
> In fact this one's even...could it possibly be....  
> ....cute?

“Thanks for coming, Will.”

Bill schooled his expression so as not to glare at the man half slumped in a desk chair in front of him. The pleasure of seeing Sixer so utterly broken was unhappily exceeded by having to be around the man and not be able to pull his brains out on a string through his nostrils. A great tragedy indeed.

“No problem.” He ground out through his clenched canines, feeling the fangs scrape against the insides of his mouth as he forced the smile. It wasn’t easy – there was something about being awoken at six in the morning and dragged down to the scientist’s lab to be subjected to eye tests for possible possessions and barked questions for two hours before allowed to leave the temporarily sated scientist’s presence that just rubbed him entirely the wrong way.

He pressed a hand along the side of his face and roughly pulled the skin out of place, allowing his fingers to pass over his lids to direct the object of his irritation to a lack of sleep, rather than the scientist sat opposite whose scooped out severed head he was currently enjoying a martini from in his mind.

The chair groaned in protest as he shifted his weight, tiredly skimming a foot over the tiles stained an assortment of dimmed colours beneath – decoration that owed its existence to the many unexpected outcomes of the man’s numerous experiments gone wrong. Tragically none gone so wrong so as to seriously maim. Such mornings had become routine in the household ever since Ford’s announcement that Bill Cipher was back.

Shock horror. Gasp. Big surprise. None had seen it coming. Except abso-fuckin-lutely everyone. The man had been crestfallen when his hugely important announcement garnered hardly any reaction from his petite audience. Such lack of response caused by the fact that Bill had made it so fucking obvious for all the Pines generation to see. His latest antics been as subtle as a sledgehammer to the face.

Yet horrible old Fordsy had quickly re-gathered his wits – what little of those he still had knocking about that ever-so-majorly deranged noggin’ of his – to further his image of the all-knowing hero who would swoop in and save the day, placing himself at the head of the Stop Bill from Extinguishing All of Our Pathetic Joyless Lives Campaign (previously chaired by one Mabel –Incessantly Annoying Bitch–  Pines)  and quickly establishing a daily check up on all Shack inhabitants to ensure none had fallen under the possession of everyone’s favourite all powerful overlord of the entire universe.

Stanley had the pleasure of his appointment at noon, Shooting Star equally fortunate at eleven, Dipper’s at a slightly less reasonable ten and Bill, well Bill must have done something to tick the good scientist off to the extremes as he had the rosy time of six in the fucking morning. He briefly wondered if it was because of the one time he had with messed the lab’s entry codes, or replaced his vial of ground coffee with paprika spices, before dismissing the thought. The man must have built his own personal grudge with him because over his weeks of stay, Bill had been simply a delight for all to have around.  

But sadly for whatever reason the host had it out for his houseguest, and being the newest addition to the assorted oddities that shared the walls, as well as coming into each of their lives in an unheralded and most unexpected manner had the man’s paranoia following him like a particularly stupid moth to an extremely violent forest fire. Meaning that Bill was under especial scrutiny; where Dipper’s and the rest of the unhappy family were only dragged from their activities for one hour, Bill was forced to endure two.

“What brought you to Gravity Falls?” Ford’s voice cut harshly through his short inner monologue, dragging his focus back into the cramped room that had barely changed in the thirty years since he had last seen it. He was almost perfectly sure if the assortments of dusted drapes were removed his many images would still be found below the sheeted coverings.

The novelty of tricking his hated enemy and masquerading as a meatsack under the jumped up, upstart’s nose had very quickly worn down. After the first of such appointments Bill would readily have torched the entire forest. After the second he was ready to rip his own eyes from their sockets and stuff them into his ears in the hopes that they would shut the steady stream of fired questions up. He had spent the entirety of this one so far contemplating how brilliant Ford’s decapitated stuffed head would look on Dipper’s bedroom wall.

He had just finished deciding that the trophy would be perfect hung above Dipper’s headboard when, as if sensing his reluctantly forced concentration, Ford leaned forward in his chair, eyes needling into his opposite. His hardened voice of tar and gravel angrily insistent as he pressed again, repeating, one hand impatiently rapping at the table it was dumped over. “What brought you to Gravity Falls?”

It was the eighth time that week he had asked. Seven times he had evaded, his response vague but adequate enough to avoid further probing, considering the question artfully dodged. For the eighth time that week he regarded the broken corpse of a man. For the first time that week he made no move to evade an answer.

Emotion was an instrument that he could play as easily as any other he had picked up. “My family died.” He fed the lie easily, wielding it as if it were a knife pointed directly over Sixer’s heart. “I needed somewhere to go. Somewhere no one would follow so I could be alone.” A sniffle. Eyes blinked in quick succession as if angrily trying to hold back a cascade of tears. It was easy. Far too easy for any enjoyment to be taken from the act. He bowed his head to appear ashamedly cowed. “Secluded cabin in the woods in a town in the middle of nowhere that no one’s ever heard of? It seemed perfect.”

He knew he’d just played a blinder of a winner when Ford hastily jerked back in his seat. His expression sketched surprise before settling to one awash with guilt as he raised a six-fingered hand to claw at his sideburns, his thinned skin rising a couple of shades as he stuttered, thrown into disarray by the new information provided that he had so forcefully attempted to gain. A poor, helpless orphan that he had ferociously interrogated until they confessed their parents’ death. Oopsies.    

Dismayed at his social blunder, Sixer cleared his throat to an awkwardly forced cough, hurriedly snatching up the pen from the piled papers stacked messily on the table as if stuck by sudden motivation, distress clear as he rapidly moved on.

“Why are you in possession of multiple hunting knives?” Oh so Ford was allowed an entire wall of weapons but Bill wasn’t allowed eight measly pointed metal twigs? Go figure.

“I lived in a cabin in the middle of Gravity Falls’ woods. Pepper spray isn’t exactly going to stop a manticore, is it?” he sniped sourly, sneering and not bothering to heel the hardened ring of contempt. He knew full well the snap in his behaviour would do little to improve their already rocky relationship but he didn’t care. He had better things to do than spend his time placating a grumpy paranoid coot – one of them at this moment upstairs, their face burrowed deeply into the depths of a pillow as they starfished across the bed they shared.

The scene continued – Ford angrily spouting questions, growing further and further steeped in his frustrations as Bill coyly turned each one to the side and ridiculed the old fool.

Ford ran a finger over his faded goggles, sighing as he tiredly withdrew the accessory from his face and placed them gingerly on the table, as if afraid the use of even the slightest force would lend the single crack splintered across the left dusted surface to lengthen and the entire thing implode in on itself. “Why hasn’t anyone other than my great nephew seen you before now?”

 _Great nephew._ Bill cocked an eyebrow at that. Apparently Ford was still too far up his own ass to remember the employment of said great nephew’s name. He mentally applauded the annoyance’s fatal flaw. It had, after all, left Dipper so distressed he was quite ready to jump into his sworn enemy’s arms simply for the proper use of his name.

“I was a hermit. Do you know the definition of the word, or do you need a dictionary to look it up?”  He answered scornfully, taking a moment lost to deep satisfaction in self-congratulation –  _good job Bill. **Why thank you Bill.**  No problem you handsome devil.  **Oho, you charmer you**  _\- as Ford snapped back as if slapped across his paled skeletal cheek. He rested one hand beneath his chin.

Ford’s face sprung into a comically affronted frown. An angered growl slipped past his pursed his lips. But he shrugged it off and continued, though Bill swore his tone was slightly more forced. “Have you noticed anyone suspicious lately?”

“What, you mean the man with a death laser in his kitchen cupboard living downstairs, or someone else suspicious?” Bill intoned cynically, voice dripping with a harsh sarcasm. He kicked his heels back, face blown in exaggerated feigned surprise.

“Has my great nephew ever mentioned a…triangle?” Ford paused, in that moment ageing twenty years as his gaunt face grew further haggard, ghostly pale. His eyes skittered nervously to the sides. Apparently Bill had left quite the lasting impression on the guy.

“No.” He leaned forward, purposefully encroaching on Fordsy’s personal space as he plucked a wry smile to his lips. “Why, Sixer? Should he have?” He purred softly, observing the man whimper and break before his eyes.

Ford’s hands spun out of control and his face fell apart, any composure sliding away to sheer panic. For a moment Bill wasn’t sure if he’d pushed too far. He blinked, inching his body ever so slightly away. Had the slip of the name led the scientist to realise too early? Was he about to leap across and lock the same stammering fingers currently pressed deeply into his chest as if to bury the limbs beneath his flesh, around Bill’s neck?

No, he decided, reached conclusion bringing with it a regaining of his calmed demeanour and return of confidence. If Ford had seen through ‘Will’ then he would not still be sitting here (un)comfortably without his head slammed against the nearest wall and blaster pulled to the side of his skull. Ford was just as in the dark as he always had been.

Sixer’s fingers crept up his neck to carry the head morosely pressed into them. “That’s enough for today, Will.” He sighed unhappily and tiredly gestured to the exit. “You can go.”  _About fucking time_. Bill muttered a half-assed farewell, leaping energetically from his seat with the grace of a feline pouncing on a strayed rodent and eagerly stumbled to the button pad, all too happily punching in the lift summons.

He stepped into the rickety machination, noting with disdain how it creaked sullenly upon the added weight to its load. He took a moment to turn his head and peer over the flimsily decaying rails, fully enjoying the sight of the man unhappily slumped over his paper-littered desk, dwarfed by the piled tomes and formula scrabbled across stretches of blackboards that towered over his collapsed form as the contraption rose and lifted him from the hellish depths to the heavens above.

 

* * *

 

“Mmmpf,” Dipper moaned upon Bill’s entrance and rolled over onto his other side, the back of his curls visible from the cocoon of covers as he faced the wall, head turned to blot out the light streaming through the slung open door. “Fuck you.” He slurred. “Don’t be a dick and turn off the lights.”

Bill giggled but obeyed, calling softly over his shoulder as he gently eased the frame shut. “Maybe later kid.” To his continued amusement, Dipper’s face had turned a delightful shade of beaten red when he twisted his body to halfheartedly throw a pillow in Bill’s direction.

 _Definitely later_ Bill promised himself, feeling a flush of heat creep up his manhood as he approached the blankets clinging to Dipper’s otherwise bare form. He wanted nothing better than to rip them off his lover and tackle him into the cooled embrace of mattress but he settled for the next best thing – crawling into the covers, Dipper shuffling over to make room as he inserted himself back into the very position he had been forced out of an hour prior.  

That night under the stars had been beautiful. Not so much the waking up to find his lover kidnapped – again – but the sex? The sex had been amazing. He saw now why so many were obsessed with the activity. It had been everything. Everything he had ever wanted. Until now. Now he was painfully aware of exactly how much he wanted  _more_. Dipper was a drug more enthralling than any syringe or flecked powder invented in meatbags’ pursuit of euphoria could possibly hope to be. And Bill couldn’t fool himself into believing that he wasn’t well and truly addicted.

“Where’d you go you shitty triangle?” The object of his desire mumbled sleepily, his voice muffled in the mouth pressed into Bill’s shirt. “I woke up and you were gone.”

“Oh, I was just downstairs murdering your entire family.” Bill breezed airily. Bill’s chest felt oddly cold as Dipper’s warmth faded, pulling away for the boy to throw his head back slightly, curls bouncing wildly at the motion as he snorted to show exactly how much he believed  _that_. Bill could almost hear the silenced ‘yeah right’ behind the harrumphed sound.  

“I wish.” Bill paused, silently interrupting himself to briefly run the hand that had locked around Dipper’s shoulder through his tangled locks. His eyes wandered to the tops of the rafters above his head as he huffed air though his nose, sighing dejectedly. “Was playing the latest round of twenty questions with Doc Hyde.” He mumbled bitterly.

Dipper groaned like a violated animal in pain and angrily drew his body up to fully expose the lines of Bill's image burned across his naked chest in their full glory, his lower body remaining obscured beneath the covers that fell violently against the backs of his waist like storm-driven waves breaching walls of rock stretched across the shore.

His hands tightened into curled fists pushing deeply into the mattress at Bill’s sides as his arms supported the brunt of his weight, his head pulling up to level with Bill’s face. He fluttered his lengthy eyelashes shyly, beautiful lips quirking into a pout that made Bill seriously reconsider his self-proclaimed promise of delayed sex. “Can we please just kill him already?”

“As much pleasure it would bring the both of us,  _no._ We can’t. Time’s not right.” Urgh  _time._  Bill barely resisted rolling his eyes. Time was a concept he had long hated to entertain and would never enjoy – not until he was no longer bound by its confines.

Dipper made a small noise of protest in the back of his throat as he startled, Bill’s fingers playfully booping the tip of his nose, and his pupils went cross-eyed to follow the movement. “Now shut your eyes, Un-Sleeping Beauty. Every healthy psychopath needs their eight hours of REM.” Dipper grumbled incoherently beneath his breath but obeyed, leaning his head back into the bulk of Bill’s chest, too exhausted from the previous night’s exercise to argue.

He guessed even the self-labelled insomniac could fall prey to the call of unconsciousness if sufficiently worn out – gutting someone alive after they fought like a cornered cougar jumped up on steroids would do that to a person – because soon the boy was completely lost to the world – his vibrant ruby lips parted to allow the exit of shortened peaceful light puffs of air.

Gently, Bill dipped the both of them into Dipper's Mindscape. He moodily sifted through Dipper’s chocolatey mess, wishing that the boy could be awake to fully appreciate the loving interaction but reluctantly opted out of waking him, knowing it best to allow his slumber. He was deprived of rest enough as it were, and there would be plenty of other opportunities to bask in the boy’s eyes adoringly fixed on his form.

Their colour was shifting to an opaque amber frequently now and pretty soon Dipper would have to either cover over the entire eye or wear contacts if he wanted to avoid throwing suspicion to his relatives like in the latest interrogation from Ford. Or an eyepatch. That would suit the kid. He chuckled dryly at the idea of the boy turned cyclops, newly one-eyed. Just a top hat, suit and bowtie away from perfection.

In response to the noise, the glowing orb that had made its appearance to hesitantly nose at Dipper’s shirtless chest like a curious puppy paused in its action to float over and nestle snugly in the space between the peak of Bill’s caramel mop and his floating top hat.

Dipper’s soul was every part as gorgeous as his body and intricate as his mind. The previous spider crack that had violently splintered the surface had vanished, lost in the newly completed outer stretch of a stained dirt mustard yellow, the golden ichor running an inch deep to entirely ensconce the inner sphere of softened baby shell egg blue, the stream of light cerulean strokes displaced by random interludes of slivered ghost silver and painted tan bronze that swirled in clusters to form arcs of miniature scattered galaxies. Bill could easily admit it was the most beautiful soul he had ever seen.

He shed the built stress from his body with the ease of a snake slipped from its second skin and laid his back into the headboard, pooling his hands into Dipper's lap, as he happily reflected on the state of his plans.

Sixer remained unaware. Stanley had his suspicions – oh he had seen the glares the coot had sent his way but made a point to ignore them, draping himself further across Dipper whenever on the receiving end of one such downright murderous gaze – but remained inactive, unable to do much of anything to the fact that the boy quite simply couldn’t stand to be in the same room as him.

Mabel pines? Dealt with. And he hadn’t broken the deal; after all, technically no ‘harm’ had befallen the girl. A possible further degrading of her mind, but nothing that actually damaged any part of her body.

He tittered quietly to himself, taking care not to rouse the boy rested into his figure, curls scraped over his skin to hide three of seven points of the painted asterism crowning their forehead, eyes closed in drowned bliss.  

Dipper Pines really never did realise how truly open their bargain was, though he doubted the revelation of exactly how many loopholes had been left for Bill to masterfully twist to his advantage would bring much worry to the boy in his position now.

It had been more than a simple annoyance to not simply  _incinerate_ her – a handy solution to most of, if not the entirety of, his problems. But he needed this particular problem to be handled with a certain finesse. Like he had told Dipper, timing – as much as he hated being bound to the concept – had to be perfect if he were to pull the particular finale he had planned off.

Which meant lively Mabel Pines had to remain lively for just a little longer. As did any of the other pains bearing the Pines name. An annoyance, and an extreme inconvenience to those who had to share a room with the girl for longer than a first sentence of speech.

Still, despite the physical limitations, he congratulated himself on a job well done. The poor thing was probably locked so far into her own mind she would barely be able to attempt communication, let alone inform Ford just how much of a little murderous traitor his  _great nephew_ really was.

Mabel Pines would get what was coming to her. As would anyone who had ever tried to keep his rightful property away from him.

He smiled widely to himself as he darkly eyed the blue and white cap slung angrily to the side of the blackened ebony hunk of carved desk. Because Dipper Pines was,

Had always been,

And would always be,

**His.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now everyone has a teensy bit more knowledge of what's up with Dip Dop huh, good job on the soul corruption there Bill. Why thank you, Bill. You're welcome, Bill.
> 
> Turns out old habits die hard and once more I find myself locked in darkness, the only source of illumination the flickering screen of modern technology, at 3am. Whoops.
> 
> Now then, I can get to those future plans. Specifically this one – this is by no means my last Gravity Falls fic, I’ve already got another project squirrelled away in the farthest reaches of my laptop and saved on three separate memory pens (huzzah unhealthy amounts of paranoia), but it’s a top secret sort of thing so sh, don’t tell anyone.
> 
> Furthermore we cracked the 5k hits. Which is unbelievable and makes me want to bawl my eyes out. Or maybe that's the bloodshot eyes stinging so bad they're causing tears of pain. Either way, I fucking adore all you beautiful meatsacks!  
> ~MUI


	28. Burnt Bacon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooooh you shouldn't a done that
> 
> WARNING FOR ATTEMPTED NON-CON

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, no one's died lately. So uh, lets change that. After all, I have a reputation to uphold and a character cast list to thin

“That’ll be twenty dollars please.” Mabel’s plastic smile stuck rigidly to her face as she wearily rang up the purchase, beaming at the customer through unkempt straggles of russet as she woodenly handed the paid for box across the desk.

There was a hint of genuine joy at the forced corners as she called after the departing middle-aged man, “Remember, we put the fun in no refunds!” The reason of slight actual happiness being that the harsh knell of the bell singing as the door closed behind the receding back signalled the end of a shift that had seemed to stretch seven years rather than seven hours.

She pushed her exhausted body through the steps of the new routine devised under the latest Stan Home Rule, ensuring the shutter was in place over the door window pane, that the padlocks heavily threaded through the locks on tight rings of iron clasps were clamped shut and that the till was secured till opening time come the next morning.

Daily endorsement of family paranoia complete, she slunk off in the direction of the kitchen, determined that at least one attempt today to push something edible down her gullet would be successful. She paused at the entrance, suddenly unsure in her quest, finding the room already occupied.

Weak had never been a term used to describe the stoic knuckle-duster wielding, shotgun toting, law-evading conman. But hunkered at the table, back stooped and darkened bags drooping above gaunt yellowed cheeks as he stared morosely into the emptied bottom of a fractured, dust-licked mug, it was one of many words – none of them remotely positive – that sprung to mind.

He looked depressingly vulnerable. Two months passed in constant worry for the safety of his charges had done more to the man than any twenty years ever could.

“Bag check for Grunkle Stan’s eyes,” she called softly, hating how haunted the man looked as he nearly leapt from his chair at the sudden intrusion of her voice.

As if embarrassed, he choked out an awkward cough, fingers whitening as the grip around the edges of the mug tightened. “Heh,” he forced a cracked chuckle. “Good one kid.”

Silence followed, awkward and unnatural, as the two immersed themselves with a sorrowful vigour in their activities. Stan’s focus returned to his mug, whilst Mabel’s shoulders rose and fell in silenced gracefulness, her chin dipped into a rest against the base of her neck as she slathered crimson goop onto a burnt slab of bread with an unnaturally enthusiastic fervour.

She clumsily deposited the cremated slice onto a splintered saucer snatched from the heaped pile beside the grimed sink, one hand gripped to the side of the plate as the other fell to the backs of a chair, the awkward quiet that had set displaced by the series of pained scrapes of wood against tile as she pulled the seat out and slid gratefully into its depths, the plate clattering with a dulled thud onto the table surface in front.

She eyed her dining companion from over the swept sea of condiment. Her legs fell over themselves, shifting uncomfortably in her seat when she felt Stan’s own eyes sat behind the fogged lenses settle on her form, nervously flitting across to her in half-hidden slants from the ring of his mug.

He gestured to the untouched toast raised to her mouth. ”You uh, want something else?" He questioned, dejected voice half dead and gravelly. "We could order pizza.” There was a silent desperation to the question, as if he violently hoped for her to bounce suddenly into life at the mention of the crusted treat. And normally she would. A year earlier and she would already be in the doorway holding the phone eagerly out as her mouth formed the first parts of the plea. But now she remained in her seat, reaction limited to a tired shake of her head.

She lifted the toast further to her mouth, brushing one edge gently to the top of her lips. Then pressed it back down to the plate. “Not hungry.”

“Oh.” Somehow the single syllable seemed to suck any of the remaining life from the face opposite her. He slumped back in his chair, defeated.

“Yeah.” She poorly supplied, slowly dragging the plate to be abandoned at the centre of the table as she shuffled her feet and awkwardly fled her own seat.

What followed was a return to the clunky previous silence, each seeming at times to pause on the edge of an outburst, their lips quirking suddenly open, as if about to explode into speech, before a second passed, eyes slid guiltily to their sides and the mouths snapped solemnly shut.

When silence finally did break, Mabel jumped, taken aback by the sudden volume that flooded the previously deathly empty room.

“Hey Mabel, it’s about your brother. Have you noticed anything…” Stan paused, scratching his head as if hoping to find the right word hiding at the peak of his fez. Mabel blanched, tired smile wilting as her mouth spluttered in silent revolt, mind hurriedly filling in the pause with every worst possibility.  _Murderious? Sadistical? Demonical?_ “…Odd, about Dipper lately?” Stan finally found inspiration and finished, the hand slipping from his head to pull anxiously at the sides of his neck. “He and Will skipped their shifts again today.”

The Grunkle’s eyes bore through her own, narrowed in their expectation, because Dipper was her brother and Mabel should know exactly what he was off doing instead of working. And she knew all right. But she couldn’t exactly tell Stan the reason his great nephew and great nephew’s boyfriend weren’t scamming gullible tourists out of the contents of their wallets was because one was probably busy burying bodies and the other one thoroughly enjoying themselves as they watched.

“What?!” The word was less of a word and more of a shrill culmination of stress, her voice climbing uncontrollably up in pitch as she flustered. “Pssh nah, odd? He’s not- Why would you ever think- Dip’s the same boring old Dip he’s ever been…hah…hah…” The nervous laughter trailed off, guilt unable to hold any longer under the weight of Stan’s suspicious gaze.

“You sure?” Stan muttered, rubbing a hand to his stubble as he always did when doubtful. “He’s been kind of shifty the past weeks. Keeps disappearing off into that forest.”

“Well you know Dipper! “ She exclaimed, slowly backing against the counter in a need for reassurance from something solid. Even if inanimate. “Can’t stay away from there even with a serial killer about…”

“Just…” Stan’s voice shook, equally as broken as its speaker. “Just try and keep him inside. It’s too dangerous out there for both you kids.”

She flinched, the words a painful eerie echo of a previous similarly made request. “I’ll do my best, but I’m sure even if Dip Dop runs into the guy he’ll be fine.” She promised, tactically choosing not to mention that it was entirely likely the only way Dipper would end up dead at the hands of the rampaging killer was if he was feeling particularly suicidal that day.

“Oh is it that the door? I think I hear the door.” She lied, sliding away from the counter to inch backwards, backing towards the room’s exit and away from its lone inhabitant. “I guess I’ll justgocheckitthencyaGrunkleStan!” The words slurred together, each shouted so as to still be understood as she fled the crowded walls in self-inflicted exile.

To her surprise, as she dashed past the door in question on her bolt for the stairs, someone really did appear, announcing their presence with a frantic hammering pounded from the other side of the frame, each miniature explosion accompanied by a muffled, exhausted whimper.

She threw the door open, shock forming the shape of her features as she stared into the blown wide eyes of

“GIDEON?!”

The young Gleeful bent over, face distinctly twitching as he panted in a frenzied search for fresh oxygen on the back porch was hardly recognisable. The teen looked like he’d been embroiled in violent battle with a weed whacker and lost spectacularly. His baby blue fringed jacket hung to his rounded form in tattered strips whilst his white hide spurred boots had been newly christened by a heavy line of darkened slop.

Rivers of sweat poured from his brow and dampened through the torn fabric in heavily blotched patches that left his greased skin densely slick in waves of fatted oil, his normally pristine quiff had fallen to disrepair, the silvered solid block frizzed and wild as strayed wisps stuck to the edges of his perspiration-glistened face and his lips were thrown open at the mercy of a series of sharp heaving gasps.

“Kil-ler, in woods,” He managed brokenly in between stammered vocal gasps. “H-has Pacifica,”

Mabel’s mind stuttered.

Dipper had Pacifica. Her face froze. He wouldn’t. Deepened unease hit her like a punch to the gut and she trembled, lost to the chaos her mind was descending to. She felt the first beginnings of tears form at the edges of her eyes. Because he would. She’d seen him lately. So broken. Happily content just to follow Bill’s orders. And if Bill had commanded Pacifica’s death. He really would.

“Where are they?” She demanded in a sudden rush of animation as protective instinct kicked in, providing temporary relief from the mounted terror that had previously hijacked all senses. “We’ll call the police, they’ll-“

“No time,” the Gleeful interrupted. “She looked in a bad way Mabes. I wanted to save her, I really did. But he had an axe. She looked drugged; he had her in the middle of the floor in some ritual circle thingy.” One hand braced against the face of wood so as to steady his quivering bulk.

Mabel stammered, her heart rate spiking as blood roared in her ears. Her brother was going to sacrifice her girlfriend to Bill. Okay well maybe she wasn’t her girlfriend, not yet at least, they had only held hands and kissed twice, but that so totally counted and she’d been planning on finally dredging the courage to ask the blonde on a date, something nice, like pancakes at Greasy’s or visit to the beach, and she couldn’t do that if the heiress was  _dead_.

“Okay, show me.” Making a snap decision, she grabbed a wicked looking iron halfpipe from the umbrella stand that Stan kept near to the door in case of any unwanted friends from his past surfacing on the doorstep, feeling a flush of gratitude for their family’s obsession with instruments of hurt and the need to be in easy access of at least one 24/7, as she hurriedly shooed Gideon away, desperation quickening her steps as she followed him down the poorly kept yard and through the outer wall of trees.

The pipe was hefted heavily on the back of her shoulder. One direct hit and Dipper would have a headache worse than any hangover could ever bring. She really didn’t want to have to knock her demon-crazed brother out, but if it came down to it one unconscious slave for the family’s arch nemesis was easier to explain than the dead corpse of her best friend. And lover. Not that they were lovers yet. Just kissers. And hand-holders. But you know, getting there.

She figured she bore a closer resemblance to a mental institute escapee than respectable, mostly sane Mabel Pines as they tore through the forest, multitudes of darkened greens blurring together into one thick sludge, her wielding the metal pipe with a crazed desperation echoed in her eyes.

Slightly ahead of her, Gideon was his own mess of rolling blubber, his shortened legs tottering unsteadily over pushed up roots and loose pebbles in their attempt of a hurried sprint.

She didn’t know if they ran for hours or minutes. It was hard to tell with the majority of any rational thought left behind on the Shack’s back porch. She’d given up on talking to the half whale man in front, after the last attempted demand for information had left the sides of her stomach plucked open to seared agony.

At last the runner in front stumbled to a halt, announcing dramatically between choked breaths that they had reached their destination. The pipe fell from her shoulders to clutch tightly to her chest as she stilled her shuddering form, reigning in her terror and preparing herself to list all the reasons why her brother shouldn’t sacrifice her future wife to the overlord of all evil. And if that didn’t work, well, she’d always been sort of good at improve classes back in high school drama class.

She stepped determinedly forward and found…

Nothing.

No demonic ritual circle painted in blood across the ground. No axe-wielding, crazed Dipper. No damsel in distress, role played tonight by a reluctant Pacifica Northwest. Other than a coil of roil sat atop a hunk of half-charred tree stump, there was nothing out of the ordinary about the wooded space splayed in front.

She blinked, confused, before wheeling angrily to face the boy who had just lied to her about the possibility of girlfriend murder. “Gide-“

She yelped as Gideon darted forward, surprisingly agile for his figure, barely able to register the change before his hand whipped forward and punched her in the stomach, instinct lending her hands to ever so helpfully drop the pipe to rise and cradle to her belly as she hissed, gasping for air.

“Sorry sweetcheeks,” Gideon didn’t sound even remotely apologetic as he leered at her, taking a short step backwards to bend down and grasp the discarded weapon that had rolled to behind his feet. “But this way there’s no one to interrupt us.”

His fingers caressed the length of the pipe almost lovingly as he rapped its end dully into his opened palm. “No upstart salesman. No paranoid scientist. And,” Gideon suddenly bristled, snarling as his eyes bugged, a vein popping at the corner of his sweated forehead, enraged. “No annoying little bratty brother.” With each listed he raised the pipe and brought it down in a violent arc, slamming it into her form.

She crumpled, buckling beneath the force and dropped to the ground, landing poorly in a messy heap. Her mind blurred, barely conscious as pain shredded her systems. She curled into herself, pulling her legs awkwardly to her still burning chest, eyes skittering nervously over to the toes of Gideon's stained boots, their corners skewing upwards beneath the rained barrage of hits, mewling screeches as hardened metal connected in a series of furious impacts to her helpless figure.  

She whimpered, a final thought flitting through her lucid mind of  _Oh you’ve got to be kidding me, that little asshole_ as she hesitantly raised her gaze, looked up to find the bastard poised over her hungrily, before her skull exploded in pain and the world, following in the cliché of countless film endings, faded to black.

 

* * *

 

She didn’t wake up to Waddles snuffling curiously at the ends of her hair. Instead, she was woken by the hands of someone equally as classifiable as a pig as the pet back in the Shack, fondling the underneath of her sweater. 

She slapped Gideon in the middle of his face. Or she would have, if her hands hadn’t refused to move. The rope from earlier had been put to use; promoted from its unemployment on the stump to around her body to lash her, hands strapped behind her back, to the base of a tree, effectively immobilising her.

Fucking great.

Mabel looked at the looming form of Gideon and gulped. This wasn’t her brother, possessed by a demon trying to grab her as they squabbled over some dumb book. This wasn’t Bill leaving a permanently mentally scarring warning. This was someone in their right mind, with their hand currently clutching her ass.

She whimpered as pudgy fingers slipped below her skirt, a shudder of revulsion running the length of her spine as greased skin fumbled beneath the lace of her pants. She felt sick. She thought she was going to be sick. If she wasn’t tied up, she would have punched Gideon in the face. And then kicked him in the balls. The fingers went lower. The bile drowning her mouth increased. She did not want this. Did. Not. In. Any. Way. Want.

The only thing that made her feel an iota of positivity about the situation was that Gideon had lied. Always look on the bright side – Dipper wasn’t going to sacrifice her not-girlfriend(so totally girlfriend) to his demon boyfriend.

She smiled a little at that; though any joy in the knowledge that she could still become Mabel Northwest-Pines promptly evaporated as invading blubber dragged her reluctantly back to her front row seat of the horror show in process.

She screeched, thrashing against her bonds as the fingers dipped, crawling disgustingly over her skin. Her flailing ankle connected with Gideon’s shin and he stumbled away, violently swearing.

She hadn’t been gagged. Maybe he’d been too dumb enough not to do it or maybe as part of some sick fetish he just wanted to hear her screams. Either way, her mouth was free. Her body trembled and for once it wasn’t because Gideon had his hands down her panties. She couldn’t believe she was going to do this. But asking Bill for help, horrible as it may be, was better than getting  **raped**.

Hopefully Bill wasn’t too picky in his rituals. She knew she was lacking most of the materials, she couldn’t draw the wheel and she doubted Gideon would pause to allow her a five minute break to snap a photo and lend her a marker to cross its eyes out, even if she asked nicely.

But she also knew Bill paid specific attention to their family, or more importantly, anyone close to ‘his’ Pine Tree, so there was a fifty fifty chance of this actually working. Bill would either agree to help, not show up, or more likely, show and fully endorse her torment.

"Triangulum, entan-“She croaked raggedly, probably screwing the pronunciation all the way to Sunday. “- ** _gulum. Meteforis dominus ventium. Meteforis venetisarium!"_**

Once started the words fell from her mouth as if possessed, and she blinked in rapid succession, barely able to believe as all colour fled from her surroundings that that had actually worked. The scene was filled with an all too familiar nasal cackle as the ex-triangle himself burst into being, revealed in full splendour to a sudden gold-kissed spotlight that near blinded her, floating a metre above the ground.

Her mouth fell open in shock as her brain short-circuited in its attempt to understanding exactly what had just happened. Because she hadn’t just summoned Bill. No, she’d somehow brought Dipper along too.

There, curled in a foetal position in mid-air behind the demon, wrapped in a bubble of blindingly apparent against the grey barren scape burning azure, was her brother, an angelic smile painted across his relaxed features as he rested in deepened slumber.

“This better be good.” Bill growled, his eyes running critically over her as Dipper’s own fluttered open. He glanced around, peaceful smile disappearing as he took in the frozen scene. And the mocha in his eyes melted to flash  **gold.** Mabel shivered. Suddenly calling a reputedly destructive demon with a vendetta against their family didn’t seem like such a good idea.

“Help me,” She whispered, barely able to muster the words through her scratched throat.

“Hmm, let me think about that no~pe.” Bill chirped, puffing his cheeks slightly and popping the P between his lips with exaggerated stress. “I can’t just go around giving everyone freebies kiddo. What about you Pine Tree, wanna play selfless hero and volunteer your services?”

“Nah, I’m good.” Dipper had dropped from his fiery giant hamster ball to the ground; his back now voluntarily leaned rigidly against a tree in front of her. He held up a hand in a show of refusal.

“You heard your brother toots, there’s nothing I can do.” Bill shrugged as he raised his hands to his face, flexing each inspected finger in randomly ordered, quickly followed bursts. “My hands are tied here. Kind of like yours right now actually, only you know,” He paused his motions to smile condescendingly. “Metaphorically.”

Mabel’s back slumped dejectedly against the bark as she ignored all logic, wheezing a muted, “What if I make a deal?”

Bill’s form straightened as his head cocked to the side. “Ooooh there’s the hypocritical bitch who’ll do anything to save her own saggy skin!” He cried. “Fine kid, so you wanna make a deal with the devil? Well, he’s not exactly going to say no. We’ll bail your pathetic ass, but it’ll cost you a favour.”

“A favour?” Mabel echoed doubtfully. “That’s it?”

“Oh I can bump the price up if you want," Bill offered with a predatory grin. "But yes, a favour. To be called in whenever I feel like it.”

“Unspecified favour’s too vague.” Mabel answered quickly. “It can’t be anything like killing or hurting someone. And it has to be within this year, I’m not going crazy from endless years of waiting for you to turn up and demand something.” She added.

“Mmm you drive a hard bargain there, much better than mister sold my soul over there.” Bill happily pushed a thumb in Dipper’s direction who positively glowed at the insult. “Okay Stars, deal. I’d shake your hand, but well,” he cackled, his gaze dropped to her confinements. “It looks otherwise occupied.”

Mabel’s face flamed as she dropped her head in shame. Tied to a tree by a whale man in front of her worst enemy. Even she had to admit she looked pretty pathetic right now. “So what happens now?”

“Now we sit back and watch the fireworks. Hey Sapling,” He swivelled to Dipper. “You got this one?”

“Yeah yeah.” Dipper muttered dismissively. “You do your thing, I’ll do mine.”

“So enthusiastic!” Bill grinned as his head snapped back to focus on Mabel. “I don’t think he likes you anymore.” He taunted, waggling a finger in time to his speech mockingly.

“Bill…” Dipper snarled warningly, to which the demon answered with a bob of the head and snap of fingers. “Really doesn’t like you,” He elaborated as colour began to leech back into the vicinity. Mabel stifled a sob as Gideon’s fingers leapt back into life, finding a hold on the curve of her shuddering cheek.

“B-bill?” Gideon stuttered, his mouth falling open and tongue flopping out past his lips, eyes rounding as they flew to the sudden newcomer, whether in fear or disbelief Mabel couldn’t tell.

“Looking a little ropey there shortstack.” Bill giggled, his impish face twisting into a knowing smirk. Beside him, Dipper was looking less and less like her brother,  a calmed veneer forming across his sculpted emotionless features. “Been a while since we last saw each other. In fact, correct me if I’m wrong but the last time we met was  **ϖƕϵƞ ƴƠƲ ƆƌƖƖϵƐƊ ƟƒƑ ƟƲƦ ƊƐƌƪ** ” Pinpricks of scarlet needled through the blued irises as Bill’s voice descended into a guttural roar.

“You’re not, eheh, still mad about that, are ya?” To his credit, Gideon seemed to recover from his shock unexpectedly quickly. But before he could do anything, he was ripped away from her. Or well, his hand was ripped away from her.

One second there, the next second gone.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Piggy?” Dipper snarled, the now detached limb clenched between his fingers, slicks with the blood running down the length of the battered shape in their greedy race to reach its end. Any hope that her brother wasn’t the serial murderer was wrenched away from her and broken in his grasp along with the snapped limb.

Gideon howled, bestial in his agony, flecks of spittle frothing furiously at his mouth, a hand reaching to cradle his freshly stubbed arm that just  _ended_ with an unnatural abruptness at his elbow.

“Enough Dipper!” She pleaded, desperately yearning against her bonds, hoping that there was some part of her brother that still remained in the conditioned shell that would stop before a line was irreversibly crossed. “He’s had enough!”

“He’s a bastard, Mabel. He deserves to die.” Dipper intoned, voice hollowed.

“He’s still a human.” She moaned. It’s wrong.” Gideon was a git and all who possibly needed thirty years in prison to straighten out, but he didn’t deserve to die.

The stoic calm on Dipper’s face rippled, and for a brief, glorious moment the gold in his eyes receded as he blinked, mocha returning to pupils widening in confusion. His casual posture slipped as his form twitched jerkily, shoulders thrown to his neck before slumping back down for arms to listlessly droop at his sides. His head fell forward, unresponsive, only to snap almost immediately back up.

Inner turmoil over, she could only watch as Dipper’s form straightened, his cold, contemptuous mask returning. “ ** _Ignis.”_** He growled, voice thrumming with power but void of any emotion.

Bill was perched happily on the tree stump, one leg over the other, a right shoe flaying the patch of grass to its front, a box of popcorn materialised and balanced on his lap. He hooted in whooped jubilation as cerulean flames lapped at Gideon’s ankles, hungrily rising to snake up his sides, the boy’s screams painfully audible as they ripped from his smoking body.

Mabel could only watch as he futilely batted at his sides, efforts fruitless as licks of heat climbed his waist, entirely claiming his chest before almost languidly curling to the height of the stumped arm. “MABEL!” He screeched hoarsely. “HELP ME! HELP M-ARGH!”

At some point either Bill or Dipper must have magicked away her bonds – she hardly cared enough to think about when  _that_  had happened – as now unhindered, she toppled forward, falling clumsily to her knees and retched, mouth thrown wide, opaque liquid splattering into a thinned pool in the dew ridden grass as his howls gurgled then broke off; his face disappeared to the inferno. The flames rose over the silvered quiff, the towered style disintegrating beneath the surged heat, before that too, vanished.

“You killed him.” Mabel whispered disbelievingly, head forced straight, unable to tear away from its locked gaze at the charred spot where Gideon Gleeful had just stood. “You killed him.” She repeated, voice rising as thoughts spiralled out of control.  Her hands rose from their punched fists into the ground to grip her face as her body rocked jarringly in a broken see-saw motion. “Oh my god you fucking killed him.”

“I know!” Bill crowed as he burst into a short spattering of enthused applause. He sighed wistfully, claps ceasing as he leapt from his seat and threw his arms in a wide arc. “Wasn’t it beautiful!? Isn’t he gorgeous?!” His face grew in rapt awe as if in the presence of some ethereal being as he strode over and embraced Dipper, ruffling his hair playfully. “Okay kiddies, time to go. Just going to bend the entire shape of your dimension to push us back about two and a half miles. But you know~” He clicked his tongue. “Nothing special.”

“No!” She burst into a screech, the ferocity surprising even herself as she shakily commanded her jellied legs upwards and clambered uneasily to her feet. “No space bounce. Ford and Stan are already suspicious enough without you dunking us mid-air in front of them.” She paused breathless, before finishing, voice finding some echo of resolution through the dense depths of despair wallowed in. “We walk.”

Dipper silently drifted from Bill, his form fading into the background of the dense undergrowth. She and Bill quickly followed, the latter muttering a lowered “Killjoy.” Accusingly under his breath.

“Wow,” She muttered flatly, shaking her head. “Do you want to get caught?”

“May~be.” She flinched as he pressed his face closer to hers, baring his teeth as he sang.

Her head ducked away and her entire body balked to the side so as to escape the invasion of her personal space. “You’re insane.” She muttered weakly, exasperated, as she dug an unsteady hand though her hair.

“Oh that’s a definite.” He giggled, the manic grin stretched grotesquely to fill the edges of his face in a sharpened sickle of pearled dentures. “What gave it away,” He paused, voice dropping to an exaggerated, overly serious stage whisper. “Is it the laugh?”

Dipper’s distant bobbing head barely turned as he called loudly from the front “It’s so totally the laugh.”

The lopsided crescent disappeared into a pout. “I always thought it was cute.” The demon whined, heel sulkily kicking up dust like a petulant toddler throwing a temper tantrum.

Dipper huffed a snort. “Oh it’s cute,” he intoned sarcastically. “Cute in the way piggy went squee squee splurgh.”

Bill chortled as he took an unnecessarily exaggerated leap over an upturned tree root, musing thoughtfully. “Yeah, he went up like a fleshy lard stick.”

“Stick?” Dipper retorted disbelievingly. “I wouldn’t go for anything thinner than a slab.”

“Will you two just shut u-p?” Mabel screeched before Bill could form a response, her voice cracking beneath drowned grief and snarled fury. “Someone just died and all both of you can die is joke about it!”

Dipper growled as he stopped, whirling round to face the slowed pair dragging behind. “Oh I’m sorry, what did you want me to do, hold a fucking memorial service for the poor dead attempted rapist? I think you’re forgetting,  _dear sister_ , we didn’t ask to be summoned.  **You** made the deal,  **you**  wanted him to stop, well we stopped him. You’re welcome, by the way.” He added snippily before turning to resume his pace, calling harshly over his shoulder. “So just get over it.”

“Oh he’s got you there.” Bill purred from beside her.

“Can you just, stay quiet until we get back to the Shack? Please?!” She begged desperately, having reached the point where she was simply unable to deal with the two’s upbeat outlook on the situation. The ground she walked felt flimsy, as if it were about to slide away from her at any moment. She couldn't kid herself any longer. Dipper was the murderer. He'd been running round killing people for the past two and a half months. And now he'd killed Gideon. In front of her. The urge to find the nearest bathroom resurfaced with a newly vicious intent.

“You’re no fun Stars.” Bill complained, cutting short her inner development. A grunt from Dipper’s direction signalled his own agreement to the statement, but for the remainder of the mercifully short journey the two stayed almost entirely quiet, holding their peace other than the occasional break of a muted giggle.

Mabel sighed in relief as the tree line fell away and the ramshackle roof of the Shack swam hesitantly into view. Her steps quickened, a previously lost eagerness rediscovered at the promise of sanctuary behind her bedroom door. Where she could spend time away from the two murderers currently in her company to plan out a next course of action.

The air pressure seemed to plummet as the three approached the boundary line, the atmosphere crackling with a newly unseen electrical tension, as if lightning were about to strike the spot to her left. The hairs on the backs of her arms fretfully rose to attention as the entire world slowed to a near stand-still, a carousel of snapshots filtering through her frozen mind, the next chain of events passing as if in stop motion.

Bill screeched a desperate warning from somewhere at her side, as Dipper, already mid-stride, unable to do anything but complete the step forward his foot was already lost in motion to, slammed into some invisible wall, dropped to the ground like a puppet with strings slashed, and narrated to the horrified gasps of all present, erupted into flame. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sufficient tease for next chapter? Good. Get ready to hate the writer kiddos as we prepare for the end of this trainwreck of events. It had to come sometime, even I need the occasional break from seven days straight of 4am bedtimes. 
> 
> You see the tags updated? Scenes of graphical violence, yeah that one should really be a no brainer. I don't exactly make things pleasant for characters, do I? I'm hearing a resounding no on that one. I still don't know why I do it. Maybe because it's extremely fun and gives me an insanely egotistical power rush? Yeah, guess that'll do it.
> 
> Oh well, with the end of events set in motion, the finales all set up. Cya Thursday, I'll try not to disappoint  
> ~MUI


	29. Ỡ//ŦƕƏ ƉƐƣƗƕ Ơƒ ƉƖƥƤƐƦ ƤƖƞƏƨ /// ÐƱƜß ƤƖƞƐƺ ÐƠ ÐƱƜß ŦƕƖƞƓƾ//Ỡ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well sorry for that delay, technology, amiright?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For once no notes here folks, I'll just let you get to what you've come for

~~So, my account chooses today of all days to mess up, deeply annoying for you and equally annoying for me because I have spent the entire day tinkering around with what should be now uploaded. This is simply a test to see whether I can update, if this works the chapter should hopefully be up sometime in the next two hours, if not it'll sadly have to be pushed back till tomorrow, ending my perfectly met update schedule *internal screaming*~~

~~Massive apologies for any inconveniences or hopes raised - that cliffhanger will be resolved soon, I promise!~~

All difficulties sorted, so without further ado, Onwards Aoshima!

~MUI

* * *

 

“Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod.” Mabel hyperventilated, her hands, not knowing what exactly they should be doing, too caught in her panic, deciding to split their actions; one flying to cover her mouth stuck permanently open in the expression of distress and the other falling to yank at the edges of her sweater.  

She froze like a startled rabbit, her body forced rigid. Her mind increasingly numbed as all else lay forgotten, her eyes enlarged, eyebrows jumping in disbelief to caress the beginning of her hairline, unable to tear from staring at the spot where her brother lay frenziedly rolling amongst the heightened blades of grass, the overgrown clumps now crushed beneath his flailing body and stained a hideous shade of darkened purple.

“BILL BILL GET THEM OFF BILL SAVE ME HELP ME BILL!” Dipper continued to screech hoarsely, spittle flying in crystal, transparent chunks from his jerked open cracked, singed lips, his shape writhing desperately, his hands still frantically batting out flames that weren’t there – the initial burst of inferno had climbed his form for what had seemed like an hour but just as easily could have been a passing minute, before appearing to reach a limit, the fires that had clung doggedly to his skin – an abnormal sickened green in hue – stuttering in their brightened image, flickering as if a broken illumination, before disappearing entirely, leaving their host behind, strewn across the lawn, the prison of broken limbs, cream flesh dark as ashen soot, almost a complete stranger, even to their own sister.

She’d seen Dipper crawl into the Shack badly injured after a particular adventure gone wrong. In fact it was an almost regular occurrence given her twin’s knack for drawing the attention of anything and everything dangerous in the forest he explored in isolation – case in point the demon in their current company. But this was him, she realised hollowly, dying. Her mournful howl joined Dipper’s garbled screams as her body buckled, thrown to its knees. Dying. Her brother was dying in front of her.

It was clear to see. His writhing’s were slowly but continuously losing their energy; where he had been crossing a metre of distance in less than twenty seconds before, he could now barely manage to turn to his side at all.

His clothes were near completely gone, their mangled remains barely clinging to his soot-sprayed skin, the lack of garments leaving his fresh injuries painfully apparent.

The lines of the triangle carved into his torso were now totally deformed, the detail misshapen by the formation of scarlet, angrily reddened welts running to breach across its outer walls, its middle near completely filled by purpled blotches that spanned almost the entirety of its insides, similar blotches vividly framing the entirety of his person, their invasions threaded up from the charred final stump tips of what had been toes to his legs, curling round his waist to snake to his shoulders, the brand she knew to be on his right shoulder lost to the inked tendrils of darkness, running to his neck and clinging to the best parts of his face.

The ends of his curls were entirely gone, and what little remained of the massed chocolate mess was equally as darkened as the shadows marring his form. Withered wisps of strands hung limply over the barely visible faded pocks of seven points that somehow even now remained, blazed resolutely across the universe of his charred forehead.

His eyes were manically rolling in haphazard arcs, their colours fluctuating at an increasingly rapid pace between a hardened mocha and pooled liquid gold, feline in its glazed reflection of the fading evening light.

Unable to find the strength in her revolting legs to raise herself, she forced a crawl across the stretched plain, numbly registering the licks of pain that cut into the tops of her opened palms as exposed skin scuffed sharpened edges of pebble, barely glancing to the frozen, stock-still figure cut by Bill as she passed him, the demon for once silenced in an especially rare fit of unbroken shellshock. If she didn’t know better, she would say the bastard was heartbroken.

The Shack door swung violently open before she could reach her brother, the remainder of the Pines clan hurtling out as if it were they on fire, shared expressions equally panicked in their hastened charge.  

Brought out by the unearthly commotion on their home’s doorstep, it was hardly a surprise to see each of the two overly paranoid guardians armed – Stan’s crinkled shirt sleeves hurriedly rolled to his shoulders in exposition of creased bulging biceps, his bared wrists continuing to a hand clenched angrily around the handle of a baseball bat, the polished hunk modified to fit the man’s preferences by the ingenuous addition of a cluster of metal nail stubs drilled in a series of rising rings to the wood’s rounded peak.

Ford’s own weapon of choice was a somewhat basic in appearance revolver that he had plucked from the inside of his coat upon throwing the back door wide. Other than the electric blue of the gun’s body, there was nothing much out of the ordinary about it, though knowing the man’s experience and years spent hopping dimensions, the observation was likely far from accurate.

Each looked almost possessed as they raised their objects, Stan lagging slightly behind to chase the heels of his frantic twin. “MABEL GET AWAY FROM HIM RIGHT NOW!” Ford roared in fumed warning, mid-charge. “THAT’S BILL!”

He was echoed by Stan’s own, hollered roar of “KID, GET YOUR ASS IN THAT SHACK, NOW!”

She blanched as Ford continued his stampeded approach, Stan pausing to disapprovingly meet her gaze. She looked away, guiltily. “Grunkle Ford, Grunkle Stan,” She stammered. “I can explai-“ She trailed off as the man in front finally slowed, breaking his charge and splitting his legs to part in a tightened V, striking a poise she guessed was trying for no-nonsense intimidation but with the darkly-lined bags drooped beneath raw, bloodshot eyes and carrying of loaded armed weapon simply came across as psychotic.

He held the gun tightly to his front, as if it were some blessed, anti-demon shield. His lab coat billowed out against the back of his knees as he breathed heavily, cocking the weapon in its position. And pointed its muzzle down, lining it straight to Dipper.

* * *

 

Bill had fucked up. He’d never fucked up before – he didn’t make mistakes, he just created unexpected developments – not like this. This was a screw up of multidimensional proportions. Because one blip of oversight and Dipper was suddenly in front of him, paying dearly for that mistaken blunder.

Apparently somewhere locked inside this flesh suit he had a heart, because the sight of the kid, limply floundering in between crushed weeds and fauna, brokenly crying his name in his manic ravings broke  _something_  and for the first time since the beginning of his existence, Bill didn’t see pain as hilarious. Not when it was his Pine Tree suffering.

Bile rose to the front of his mouth, grief and horror swept along with the usual wave of erupting fury that overtook his mentality whenever someone was suicidal enough to rile him. Dipper was dying.

Not dying. Bill wouldn’t let him. He’d never let him. Dipper Pines died when Bill Cipher said so and today was not that day. Which meant Bill just had to speed up his plans slightly. Grab the kid and flee the dimension. Simple. Dipper would live, and this one unexpected development could be put behind them after they returned to clear the loose ends and buried the family.

So grabbing the kid. On paper it was easy. But Pines had a nasty habit of making the easiest things mind numbingly difficult. Stanford most of all.

Getting Dipper would be awfully hard to do, especially when one of the half-corpse’s great uncles was stood beside them brandishing a nail-embedded baseball bat in their grip of sweaty bear paws and the other was carrying a fucking gun pointed down to their head. And wearing a raggedly grim but sternly determined expression across their face that told him exactly how likely the guy was to pull that trigger.

And he could do fuck all – not that Sixer or Fez knew that and he desperately hoped even Stars wouldn’t be as dumb as to fill them in on that particular titbit – because if he did unscrew the men’s insides from their places to extra painfully gut like a particularly pitiful fish plucked from its element like he wanted (and right now he really, _really_  wanted to) then he’d violate the deal and consequently lose any rights staked to the kid’s soul.

So violence was a no go and he doubted Ford would hesitate to pull the trigger if he tried running or disappearing to warp over to Dipper. Besides, he wasn’t sure Dipper’s body could take the stress of travel in this state. He was in effect, stuck. Stuck between a dying – not dying – Dipper Pines and two crazed weapon-wielding pensioners out for blood.

Of course Ford – and by extension his twin – would find one final way to royally fuck up his meticulously detailed master plans. Again. It was apparently one of the guy’s favourite past times after all. He’d ruined apocalypse number one before it could even properly start and now he’d developed a taste for the self-heroics and was in the middle of ruining the beginnings of number two. Not for the first time Bill found himself cursing the continued existence of Stanford Pines.

He expressed his deepening annoyance through a hissed aloud, near feral growl, hating that if this was to end with him getting Dipper out alive he would have to play nice. Which sadly meant not incinerating absolutely everything and everyone in the near surrounding area.

He inhaled slowly; calming the pull of magic eagerly yearning to escape that swirled on the edges of his fingertips that had risen in routine response to his rage, then forced the cheeriest smile he could muster to his face.  _Bear with it Bill, get the kid to safety, **then** return and kill them all in a way that doesn’t breach the contract._

“Sixer, Fez.” He inclined his head, his teeth scraping angrily together as he forced the greeting through their sharpened orderly rows. He took a tentative step forward, feeling only a slight twinge of resistance nip weakly at his figure.

The continued stress of weather interference and added time pressure of holding up for six years had left the barrier heavily depleted – the only reason for why any part of Pine Tree remained intact. The over glorified bug zapper had blown all its remaining power on ousting the one recognised threat posed by Dipper, which meant that Bill was free to enter the Shack, with or without the boy’s soul as camouflage.

“Stay away from Mabel, Cipher,” Ford spat angrily, “I should have known it was you from the start. You were never one to just quietly disappear.” He accused, voice rising to be heard above Dipper’s backing howls. “Had to come back, never able to forgive me for foiling your plans. We weren’t able to properly stop you last time but now I can erase your form from existence!”

Bill grimaced. “Do you always have to be so fucking dramatic?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes before he followed the spine of the gun down to glance at Dipper’s worryingly still head. The boy’s frenzied rantings had diminished to broken, unintelligent half whimpers, barely distinguishable between his stressed pained gasps.

“Look Sixer I’d love to stay and play but I kind of have a dying Pine Tree to save.” Bill falsely simpered. “You know, your grandkid, the one lying right there with half his face burnt off and YOUR gun to his head? So if,” His form shuddered in its attempts to contain his rapidly rising fury, the rims of his pupils splintering into crimson fragments beneath their blue counterparts as his patience neared its severely shortened fuse. “ **ƴƠƲ’Ɗ ƊƦƠƥ ƮƕƐ ƓƲƝ** , we’ll just be goi-“

“You’re not going anywhere monster!” Ford interrupted bluntly, one arm raising to accusingly poke in Bill’s direction. His posture straightened as confidence grew, a self-entitled smirk taking the place of previous panic as he continued bullishly. “Where have you taken Dipper?”

“Grunkle Ford what are you talking about?” Mabel cut in, her head ducking in intimidated shame as her sudden resurgence into the conversation brought both Grunkles’ heads to snap towards her cowed body in sequenced robotic unison. “Dipper’s right there.”

“That’s not your brother, Mabel.” Ford explained tiredly, his eyes scrunched slightly as if exasperated at her continued ignorance. “That’s one of Bill’s creations. It’s the reason the anti-Bill barrier activated. Now," He barked, turning his full focus back to his enemy "where is my great nephew, Bill?”

“Trust no one, not even your own family, huh Sixer?” Bill called mockingly. “Stars is correct, Fordsy. He’s right there. You think you’re so fucking smart with all your conspiracy theories. But that right there is Dipper Pines." His canines flashed in view of the carved grin that stretched to the sides of his face. "Just the slightly improved version.”

“Tell the truth, Bill.” The resounding snapped click signalling the ended safety setting was painfully audible to all present in the dulled absence of Dipper’s vocalised agony. “Or I start shooting.”

“He gave me his soul, Sixer.” Bill cooed chipperly. “But instead of taking it and leaving him a sad little brain dead vegetable, I decided to replace it with something a little better,” he beamed brightly, motioning proudly to his form with one hand in an exaggerated, elegant arc, “a la Cipher.”

“He’s lying!” Ford growled, casting his gaze briefly to Mabel in his effort to convince her to retreat from the pair. “Trying to trick us!”

“Am I?” Bill's sharpened pearls disappeared to an emphasised pout, the demon drawing quick breath as he loftily quirked a brow inquisitively. “The reason your dumb barrier activated was because the identity of ‘Dipper Pines’ was finally completely overridden by the part of me swimming around inside him.”

“Lying, you’re lying!” Fez roared, apparently only holding enough intellect underneath his namesake to dutifully echo his brother’s words. He hefted the baseball bat, bringing its side down on his palm with violent jerked force, as if imagining the opened bowl was the top of Bill’s head. “Dipper would never!”

“Oh for the love of all things unholy,” Bill snapped. “I can assure you that that,” He gestured to Dipper’s prone figure, horrendously vivid in its charring against the green backdrop. “Is indeed your fucking great nephew who you all apparently  _love so much_  so as to let burn out on the ground at your feet. So enough of this, thank you goodbye, we’re going.” He took another step towards Dipper.

The lined scowl of Ford's time-battered face twisted to an obnoxious, triumphant sneer, his skittish eyes settled to a coolly confident veneer in echo of his adopted tone. “That is not my nephew.” He declared, one hand raised to push his glasses calmly up his nose as he angrily set his jaw. The gun bucked as it kicked back against his grip, his fingers forced to a closer knit as they pulled the trigger.

A sudden blur of movement burst from the barrel, the followed exploding bolt of sound ripped through the tense atmosphere, hastily displacing the darkened silhouettes of nameless wildlife gathered in their perches on branches overhead,  forms shaded against greyed, crayon-rolled fog clouds, taking wing urgently to the navy sky in tightly bunched packs as they hurriedly fled the area.  

Dipper’s screams returned with a renewed ragged vigour as he feverishly uptook his ravings once again, his body pulled taut as if struck, crumpling before curling dejectedly in on itself.

 “ **ƳƠư ƖƉƖƠƬƖƇ ƤƖƐƇƐ Ơƒ ƑƱƆƘƖƞƓ ΨΔΞΏϰΘϕӜӞ** **₪₮₫ὨἿԊԂ”** Bill lost any control of his voice, switching furiously between languages of any and all dimensions he knew as his entire world painted a vibrant crimson, matching to the blurring form of Dipper’s face, the side barely visible beneath the bloodied hands frantically holding it.

“Anti-Bill bullets,” Ford announced proudly as he held the gun haughtily in the air for all present to admire. “Each pellet fired is imbued with the spare unicorn hair you gathered, Mabel.”

 **“WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE?!”** Bill snarled, glowering at the scientist who had paused expectantly, as if awaiting cheers of adulation and praise, his face falling to a frown when both remained absent. Dipper was to his side, suddenly animated in newfound energy as his form contorted in bouts of twitches and jerks.  **“WHAT. THE. FUCK. HAVE. YOU. DONE?”**

"Point-Dexter," Stan's brow creased in darkened concern as he rounded on his twin, the baseball bat seemingly forgotten in his hands as his eyes guiltily slid over to the broken Dipper. "What did you do?" 

"Only save this entire family!" Ford protested, throwing his hands to the skies in a now open show of frustration. "Stanley, he's a fake! Bill has the real Dipper hidden away somewhere!"

“DIPPER!” Mabel screamed, ignoring the two spatting elders and throwing herself at the convulsing boy, whose fingers were scrabbling into the widened gash where half his face had been.

“ **DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HIM, YOU BITCH!”** Bill roared, bristling in his fury as the words carried across the cramped clearing, despite the lack of physical force the girl fell backed away, falling back onto her splayed legs in fear at the bestial hurl of power.

“B-i…..l….l…” Dipper croaked, the words slurred in his blood-frothed mouth. “H…u…r…t…s...”

“ **You fucking shot him**!” Bill screeched, azure flames now uncontrollably pouring from his fingers and jetting up into the sky. “ **You fucking shot him in the face!**  Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Dipper, babe, I’m here!” He called over to the catatonic teen, haltingly frozen in a stilled position so as not to give Ford any reason for further shots. He wouldn’t put it past the man to shoot him again just because Bill tried to walk a step closer. The oversensitive git.

As if in answer to his suspicions, Ford pulled a test-tube filled with matching blue rounded pellets from another pocket, raising the glass vial as if about to pour its contents into the sleek body of the gun. Oh nu-uh. Not happening. He’d be damned if he let the scientist reload and shoot Dipper a second time.

Bill glared at the vial and watched in a light flush of satisfaction as its outer exploded, shattering through unseen force into wickedly edged fragments, the majority of which brought inadvertently through their propelled momentum, spearing into their holder’s flesh to a pained howl of surprise. Karma it seemed, really was a bitch.

It wasn’t much; nowhere near as violent or graphic as what they deserved, but still, there was a smug sense of much deserved comeuppance and to see the guy bleed (even if that blood loss barely broke the one pint mark) was at least something, if anything.

“This isn’t over.” Bill promised darkly, eyeing the now unarmed man and weighing the chances of Stanley employing the use of the bat, from the way the man was glowering at his twin, he happily decided it highly unlikely. “If it wasn’t for the terms of the deal you’d all be disintegrated where you stand, but I’ll be back, and I can promise you, nothing about the deal is preventing me from torching this entire place with you all inside.”

As if to illustrate his point, one eye literally caught fire; the flames momentarily licking the edges of his bangs before receding back into the reddened sclera.  “You fuckers better watch your backs, because pretty soon there’ll be a knife shoved into them with best regards from Bill Cipher. But for now-” he paused ominously, blinking out of existence to vanish into shadow.

“Hey Stars, calling in that favour!” Bill yelled on reappearance with a brief twinge of sadness as he scooped Dipper’s body into his chest, propping the listless boy up in a bridal grip. He’d been meaning to use that favour to force her off a cliff. Bitch had said she wouldn’t kill or hurt anyone. Never specified anything about harming herself though. It was a shame to waste it on something that wouldn’t result in her premature end from existence.

“You’re gonna make sure these two assholes don’t follow us!” Bill paused, the beginnings of a small but, for the first time since the beginning of this entire ordeal, genuine smile pulling across the pained wince as an idea formed. Ford and Stan were off limits, but Mabel was up for grabs; the terms of her own arrangement left unspecific to self harm, her deal in effect cancelling Dipper's if harmed indirectly through ordered self-infliction, leaving one member of the Pines family open game in hunting season.

“And you know what,” he continued brightly, “fuck them up a bit. Maybe kill yourself or scratch an eye out! Yeah, that’s perfect!” His voice dropped to a lowered trail as he muttered to himself before rising once more, barely skipping a beat in its transition to sudden gleeful exclamation, “Do me a favour, won’t you?” He smiled sweetly at the terrified girl. “Claw your own eye out.”

“What? No!” Mabel screeched, but found to the cacophony of shouted protests of both her mind and half her audience, that her hand robotically raised to her face of its own accord, manoeuvred into its place as if directed by invisible strings.

Ford remained hesitantly holding the now useless gun until Stan grabbed his arm to drag him over to the girl, both the men desperately tackling her to the ground and attempting to pin her struggling wrist in place.

“Do your big brother-in-law Bill proud, kiddo!” Bill shouted cheerily over his shoulder as he sprinted himself and Dipper across the lawn and through the Shack door, mentally swinging the weight shut and bolting it in place, stacking straggled stray objects abandoned in the corridor in a hastened tower against the frame for good measure behind his form.

Anyone else would probably have struggled with engineering a nineteen year old adolescent bridal style through the maze of corridor, but Bill, with his demonically enhanced strength, managed easily. Dipper’s body was disturbingly light for his size, and his legs dangled uselessly to gently slam into Bill’s sides on the occasional skidded turn taken too sharply.

Now that they were safe in their isolation, Bill had the chance to properly assess Dipper’s damage. And it wasn’t pretty. Pine Tree looked like he’d been thrown into a blender then left to bake in the oven on high for three days straight. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes met the deepened hole burrowed in the place of one of Dipper’s own orbs where Ford’s bullet had ripped through.

He angrily punched in the code, a somewhat manic bout of hysteria filling the pained silence of the room as he realised the safest place to take the kid was likely his murderer’s home base of operations.

The lift arrived after what felt like an eternity – and he’d experienced enough of that to know one – and he hurried the two of them inside, grossly aware that if Sixer was prepared to sacrifice his nephew in the chances of the boy’s place having been taken by one of his minions, the not-all-together man may also be ready for the less severe loss of his great niece’s eye. The only thing that had likely prevented the scientist from choosing instead to pursue being his own twin.

The two brothers, though alike in many ways, even if neither were particularly ready to admit it, were polar opposites in that regard. Stanley had always been the one more attuned to the meaning of family of the two. After all, unlike his brother, he would sacrifice the world to save a loved one if ever given the choice.

The lift juddered in its sluggish descent, causing Dipper’s head to fall from its rested place against the pads of Bill’s shoulder. Another shiver of the contraption caused Dipper’s entire body to nearly entirely slip away from Bill’s hold, his head falling awkwardly to thin air and Bill grunted with the effort as he pulled the unresponsive body closer, cradling it against his chest like a mother held their new-born babe.

He tried to ignore how weak the fluttering heart beat felt beneath his fingers, how pale the skin was quickly turning, how each breath was literally forced out of their mouth.

He combed his hair through their curls, fingers coming away slick with blood. The ugly scorch marks had left the boy practically unrecognisable, no sign of identification had been left, save for the striking depiction of the constellation that crowned his forehead.

“Oh Pine Tree,” he murmured softly in the charred remains of Dipper Pines’ ear as in the distance a door slammed, the angry voices echoing behind it eerily distorted behind the metal frame. “How did it come to this?”

The remnants of Dipper’s lashes scraped gently over blackened flesh as one stained mocha eye opened to a shortened half lid, the boy unsteadily surfacing into a lucid semi-consciousness to a mewled near incoherent whisper of “Wherewolves.” Dipper choked out in between tentative half-breaths. “This began with wherewolves.”

Bill forced what he hoped was a reassuring smile to his face as he stared down to his battered companion. “Oh that’s right. Nasty mutts, but dumb as a bag of rocks.” He jauntily shook his head in feigned disbelief. “They’ll do anything for a lump of meat.”

Dipper’s head lolled back against the insides of his shoulder. “That was you!” He grunted in the muted exclamation of statement rather than question. His remaining eye closed for a moment before opening again, as if its owner were mentally chiding himself for their ignorance. “I fucking knew it.”

Bill grinned as the lift’s descent halted, the fenced railings finally parting to allow their rushed exit, their bodies thrown from the casted shadows of the shaft’s coverings into the jarring brightness of a series of blinding focused spotlights that ran the length of the underground lab’s ceiling. “Well how else was I supposed to approach you?”

Dipper answered with a weak snort as Bill hurriedly crossed the expanse of starkly illuminated tiles, eyes shining in smug inspiration as they fell to Ford’s book littered desk. “Most people start off with flowers.”

“Kid,” Bill stated dryly in a serious deadpan. “We both know I’m not most people. And your uncle would have-”

“Shot you before you reached the doorstep?” Dipper finished, bitterly. “Yeah, sure seems so. “ He managed a raised hand in a short, sarcastic wave as if to illustrate his self-deprecating comedy, and attempted for a wry smile but failed spectacularly, the effort fettered by the amount of spurted blood continuously pumping from the rift in his face. “Hey Bill…remember when I killed Mabel, and you said….you said there was a funny thing about- about- insanity? Now that I’m dying, I think I’m, I’m ready to h-h-hear it.”

“You’re not dying.” Bill muttered as he swept aside all objects from the table surface, smug satisfaction increasing with every loudly announced crash of each breakage, the words unconvincing to the both of them. “Didn’t I tell you? You’re not allowed to die until I say so.”

He gingerly lifted Dipper’s body to the table and placed him reverently across it in as comfortable a position he could manage. “And that? That was just some bullshit about insanity being the truest form of sanity or something sounding highly philosophical and up its own ass.”

Dipper laughed, hacking up flecks of blood from his battered lungs as he groaned. “Geez, you shitty triangle, how’d I ever fall for you?”

“Because I’m the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen and the best fuck you’ll ever have.” Bill haughtily puffed his chest and answered proudly, pausing to hum for a moment as if lost in thought. “Yeah no, you’re right,” He agreed with a brief chuckle. “I’m a dick.” Dipper keened sharply as Bill’s fingers dipped gently into the crevasse to pluck the bullet from its place, expressing his own light hiss of pain as he hurled the sphere to the opposite side of the room, the ends of his skin now reddened and swollen as if stung.

He materialised rolls of bandages, taking no joy as he pushed one gently over the space that had been Dipper’s right eye. He felt a roll fury batter his forced calm psyche as the boy balked against the contact.

He wasn’t going to kill Ford. He was going to hand him over to Dipper once the boy recovered to use as a plaything, then once the two grew bored of snapping his spine like a wishbone, Bill was going to  **annihilate** him.

“Come on kid,” he coaxed, seeing Dipper’s eyelid begin its paced journey downwards. “No going to sleep, Mr Insomniac.” He teased, hoping Dipper wouldn’t notice his desperation.  The boy on the table didn’t know it, but he did. He’d seen enough dying fleshsacks to know. If Dipper’s eyes closed now, they wouldn’t open again.

“Stay with me. I’m going to patch you up and then we’re out of here. More meatbags to murder and monsters to see. I still haven’t introduced you to my gang.” He added pointedly, reaching for the nearest balled dressing.

Dipper started to giggle, but the sound was broken, like a scratched record, and turned into a series of wrecked coughs halfway through its weakened melody. “W…e had a g…o…od run, d-did…n’t we…?” He rasped. “K-ki..lled a sh…it ton of idi…ots. And y-yeah, the s-sex, the…sex w-was gr-reat.” There was a brief lull of silence as he limply raised his head from the lab table to stare into Bill’s eyes, the air seeming to freeze as the two hardened caramels met, Bill stilling in his motions in rapt awe of the beauty reflected to his front. The frozen atmosphere finally disrupted, the two remembering their composure as Dipper blinked, sighing deeply. “Somehow I always knew it would end this way.”

Bill tore a roll of bandage from his teeth, deftly slapping it over a fractured gash in Dipper’s right arm, trying to ignore how the limb barely responded from its slumped position across the boy’s chest. “What did I say about cutting the final words bullshit?” He admonished teasingly.

When failing to garner any type of response, he paused in his application of another bleached stretch to Dipper’s shoulder. “Pine Tree?” The boy emitted a strangled weak squeak in answer, his lips clamping shut to the softened thud of a head rolled helplessly back, the curved lines of form previously so energetic now lethargically dipping as his body fell totally slack.

“Pine Tree?” he repeated, growing in urgency. The boy’s one eye was thrown open to a still, mocha frozen halfway through in its caramel shift, the two colours mixed together to the shattered explosion of paint palette, a painful opposite to the entirely colourless voided crater cloven open in uneven rifts to their other half.

“No!” He howled brokenly to the deathly quiet room. “You’re not allowed to leave me!” Sobs wrenched from his shaking lips as his head bent downwards, chin sternly pulled closer to his chest, forcing his eyes open wider; to stare at the dulled sphere and dutifully will it back to animation. “Not yet, you idiot!” He moaned wretchedly. “I didn’t say! You’re not allowed! Not until I say!”

He slowly blinked the beginnings of moisture gathered from the creased edges of his own eyes away, his fingers falling from the hastily secured bandages to desperately follow the tracks of tears and pull frantically at the boy’s cheeks, raggedly passed breaths held expectantly in their wait for the boy to turn his head and playfully shove his hands away.

He forced his breaths to even as he concentrated and determinedly began to pump as much magic as he could pull from the reservoir poised, threatening to burst its walls open as it had been ever since the teen first went down, into the boy cradled vividly beneath his hands, his softened voice hesitant and cracked in its defeat as it whispered a final, questioning

“…Dipper?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it huh? Is what I'd say if I was the type of bitch who'd leave you all on that cliffhanger. But contrary to the majority of shared belief, I'm not an entirely sadistic being of existence, so you all have one more chapter, an epilogue of sorts, to look forward to come Saturday.
> 
> It's been one hell of a journey - literally. I think I've booked my place in that particular pit of fire after having written all of this, but I like to think my eternal damnation was worth it if it gave you even the briefest of pleasure.
> 
> We've had some good times, haven't we? And more than once I've stayed up to inhuman hours reading in disbelief all of your lovely comments, many of them making me laugh out loud in sudden, unexpected bouts of body possession or leaving me doing my own impression of the famed 'Bill Cipher Cheshire Cat Grin'.
> 
> All that's left to say is the extremely corny but equally as genuine, thank you, from the bottom of my darkly twisted heart, thank you. When I started this I didn't think anyone would enjoy it or particularly want to read it - this being my first dabbling in this sort of thing and having no prior experience to fall back on - and just thinking about the amount of people who took time to read any of this has me choking up, and not from allergies.
> 
> I love each and every one of you, and with a final, tearful thank you, this is MUI, grabbing Kleenex and signing off till Saturday.  
> ~One very emotional writer


	30. A Hilariously Hopeful Ending

 

* * *

 

∆ One Year Onwards ∆

 

* * *

 

The beginnings of rain fell in uneven spatters onto his shoulders as he crossed the boundary. A thinned smile chased his lips at the appearance of the cliché. For some reason it always seemed to be raining in cemeteries. As if even the weather knew it should be mourning.

He wasn’t bothered by it – just the opposite in fact – his eyes fluttering to half lidded ecstasy as he quietly basked in the sensation of the watery drops that swam in disjointed pelted tracks with increasing fervour down his face and pulled childishly at the ends of his hair, their assault dragging one drowned straggle of caramel-licked bang stickily over a brightened electric cerulean.

He stuck out like a sore thumb in his patchwork of riddled flush mustard and sooty charcoal, the vivid colours harsh to the muted rolls of grey and mouldy green that pitifully decorated the scape of backdrop.

He ambled lazily along with one hand placed reverently on the topped curve of a dark liquorice cane, the other playing a successive drum upon the silken fabric dripped from his waist, taking pleasure in the exercise as he tilted his head in appreciation of the expansive stretch of dappled greyed skies darkened above.

He puffed his cheeks and merrily loosed the beginning of a musical note, the lengthened sound ringing out, shattering the comfortable silence that had settled, its atmosphere previously only disturbed by the soft slap of inked dress shoe sole against concrete that had faded to dull thuds as his feet left the tarred path and fell upon grass, thinly towered blades still damp from the helpings of that morning’s layer of dew.

 _♫ We~e’ll meet agaiiiin_ _♫_

The melody was haunting, an old classic that most would recognise if hearing in passing. It was a siren call of beauty, the slowed cover holding a strange air of wistful tragedy to it, fitting for the setting held, and yet, the player passed the tune with a widened grin that promised sharpened ivory canines poked from carved bloody lips as it stretched, almost in grotesqueness, to cross the entire sides of his face.

 _♫ Don’t know where~ee_ _♫_

The hand clutched to the top of the cane reached briskly up to the base of his neck to lightly adjust the jet black bow tie that hung, the slip of ribbon an abrupt contrast against the bronze-burnt, tanned skin, the stick doggedly retaining its following of his jaunt, unbidden in its falling into time with each pace of striding heel.

 _♫ Don’t know whe~n_ _♫_

He wiped the gathered particles of dust from the pads of his shoulder with one critical finger, lifting a trimmed brow cockishly before lazily stretching the clustered lines of each finger out in a languid flex.

He motioned the hand into an elegant arc of wave, and as if answering to some unheard call, each of the offerings placed in front of the ordered rows he had only previously passed spontaneously combusted into miniaturised azure infernos in perfectly mirrored synchronization.

 _♫ But I know, we’ll meet again_ _♫_

He raised a finger to his lips, the tune temporarily cutting to a shortened intermission before resuming as he paused to blow non-existent curled whispers of fogged grey from the delicately placed limb with a satisfied huff, his hand falling to reclaim its place atop the cane walked by his side.

 _♫ Some suuu~nny daaaay_ _♫_

The tune silenced completely as his feet rested beside the stone – the only one in its area.

He supposed it would be joined by others soon, but for now, it stood sombrely in its place, unlike all the other orderly inhabitants of the yard grouped in their strict straightened lines, entirely alone.

His eyes skimmed roughly over the inscription as if it were the first and not the first hundredth, time he were reading it, corners of lip twisting upwards to a lightened sneer and nose screwing in distaste at the sentimental mortal crap found etched to its face in cursive.

 _“A darling brother and nephew….will be dearly missed by all his loving family.”_ He echoed the inscription aloud in a high pitch nasal murmur. The pout fully curled to an unsettling predatory sickle. HAH. The one visible eye twitched in mirth. That part always got him. Complete bullshit. Sure hadn’t looked loving when they’d shot him in the face.

The Cheshire grin faded at the crackled sound of a dying engine, the guttural strangled howl breaking off somewhere in the nearby distance. Cerulean flashed a dangerous painted scarlet. It appeared his time had run out. He wrinkled his nose as his features settled to a deeply set scowl. Never had been much of a fan of that concept.

“Rest in piece, kiddo.” he chuckled, form folding to a gentle crumple as it contorted in on itself slightly, gangly limbs compressing to the fit of giggles that erupted from the ends of the sentence, the speech seeming to carry some hidden punchline unknown to anyone but its speaker.

Thumb and forefinger locked around a flimsily tubed, fluted emerald stem to gracefully pluck a daffodil from the folds of his tail coat with the style of an expertly practiced magician conjuring it from thin air, and placed it reverently atop the head of the stone, the buttered golden petals jarringly violent against the pale of greying marble, the lightly mossed surface already dully mottled despite its comparative newness to the yard’s numerous other residents.

One hand rose to a floating top hat, elegantly pulling it from the air in which it floated and holding it softly to his heart in a jerkily stilted salute. His head snapped level to his hips, his entire body neatly bent to half as he dropped to give a jaunty exaggerated bow, holding the position for the beat of a spiked heart before springing back, his upright posture resumed. He spun tightly on his heels, giving barely a second glance as he stumbled off.

His limbs buckled and jerked to awkwardly stretched lines as if learning to walk for the first time as he followed the path back, distaste openly filtering through his now sharply narrowed eyes at the sight of a battered El Diablo, the car in as bad a state as its parking. He guessed with dripped contempt that it was the work of some random drunkard off his ass, or a particular annoying, busybody salesman.

A low growl rumbled in his throat as the car’s inhabitants stumbled out, specked forms fragile as dolls as they plunged from the half-warmth of dying car heater into bitterly chilled open air.

The outline of a shivering girl was easily picked out from the other two swarmed insects in her unusual swath of black, her costume breaching a normally rigidly adhered to character trait and acting as an entire personification of another overused cliché.

Cast to the mercy of the now near torrential downpour she stumbled, prevented from falling by the stooped form of one of the two companions; a man as apt for the occasion in his dress who pulled her back in two meaty paws that snapped to her shoulders before she could entirely surrender her balance to the throes of gravity

He noted in smug observation the grief painted across her gaunt features, the sallow face framed by limply hung russet strands, one eye obsolete to the bandaged patch clung to its front cover, and the grin resurged, splintered again across his lips. Of course she would come on this day as well. It made sense, he supposed, to visit. After all, the grave was her brother’s.

The smile continued its growth as he disappeared into the shadows, unnoticed by the new visitors, slipping away as quietly as he had arrived. Not that stealth would matter – they would know his presence soon enough, the yellowed petals were far too easily associated with his person for that purpose.

But he would not stay to hear his mentions. He held no desire to deal with a group of screaming, yammering infants. Least of all that particular group of screaming, yammering infants.

He would allow her visit to pass in peace. She deserved that much. To see her mistakes brought to life in front of her without his stellar personality to improve her mood. And he was not about to give her the chance nor satisfaction to ruin his upbeat own.

He figured she would walk the path – the same path he had walked, only her steps would be stilted and slowed, dragged in wallowed despair as she transcended tinny gravel to plush carpet and approached the reason of visit in the hopes of finding some disgustingly mortal idea of closure. It was just a shame she attempted to find solace in visiting an empty casket.

His face brightened, the scowl slipping away to an obnoxious smirk as his nasal voice split the silence, echoed by a knowing cackle as he skipped through the open door frame, throwing his arms to a widened embrace as he tipped his head to loftily address the room’s sole slumbering occupant, startled caramel thrown open to the sudden intrusion, in their nestled place upon the plush leather loveseat. An angelical, radiant smile graced their ethereal features as their face split to his entrance. “Oh Pine Tree~”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooh did I just hint at a sequel? Hehehe definitely haven’t, totally haven’t been planning this from the start. Okay so I totally have. When I said long I meant long – this is part 1 of 3. And you all thought I’d killed Dipper in the first chapter, shame on you. 
> 
> My god it feels good to be able to finally, finally get this out. I’ve never been good with hiding things, and keeping this lil titbit close and personal was a right doozy. Try taking the juiciest secret you know, locking yourself in a room with people openly discussing the subject of the secret, and keeping that secret for 2 and a half months without loudly announcing it for all to hear. I can tell ya, it ain’t easy. 
> 
> So here’s how it’s going to go – there’ll be a brief intermission of two weeks dedicated to some other project I’m working on for another fandom (juggling two regularly updated large fics, yeah, great idea there, MUI), requested drabbles and seeing the posting of a three chapter prequel of sorts from the lovely Bill Cipher to explain exactly how he got so obsessed with our DipDop before part 2 kicks off. 
> 
> All of it’s going to be rolled into this one large post, with the title to be added each time a part ends; I’ll give you the next part’s title now – The Boy That Time Forgot – and that prologue will be coming out sometime in the next two weeks. The second part is also going to lose the slow burn relationship aspect, so basically it's going to be just as dark, just as gorey, but with a lot more smut.
> 
> So now maybe you don’t want to murder me for those last couple of cliffhangers I left you on, and if you still do, by all means go ahead, but at least allow me one final bag of jellybeans before sending me on my merry trip to my reserved seat in Hell.
> 
> Till we next meet again  
> ~MUI


	31. When Billy Met Dippy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why exactly did an age-old being of unlimited-power and knowledge, take an interest in a twelve year old runt? Why indeed? Gather round meatsacks, as Bill Cipher, your all powerful, much beloved god tells his tale, a tale of torture, stalking, mutilation and manipulation. Oh and love. Yeah uh, that too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of the Intermission period. This is a flashback chapter from Bill's POV to when a twelve year old Dipper and Mabel first arrived in Gravity Falls

It wasn’t every day that much of anything noticeable occurred in the sleepy backwards hick town he had found himself rather unfortunately bound to. Because apparently planning genocide was ‘wrong’ and ‘evil’ and he should be ‘punished for it’. And after thirty years of recovery after one very painful unexpected development, he finally had enough energy (again) built up to swim unnoticed, around the place.

As always he was excruciatingly bored. Little about the current day promised to be the exception of excitement, the almost idealistically painted blue sky and amiable weather so painfully _droll_ in its frequency, likewise to each inhabitant shuffling about their equally horribly disinteresting existences.

Because the thing with backwards hick towns was that they were backwards hick towns. With not a lot to see or do. Especially for the most powerful being in the entire universe who was currently regretting some life decisions. Not the planned genocide - no that had been perfect. No regrets there. No, what he regretted was the getting caught for it part.

Anything of mild sidenote about the entire place amounted to a grimy rundown old theatre, overpriced in its five dollars per person ticket charge (not that he ever paid, that was one bonus of being incorporeal) that always played re-runs of that same old mouth-on-mouth sweet meatsack-y action. A canvas tent and some kid with a weird western obsession who provided mild entertainment on the off time that he was in the mood to watch parlour tricks to him of the same ilk as brattish infants balancing metal spoons from hooks of noses. And a ramshackle tourist trap, the existence of which he tried to ignore, other than when debating just how beautiful the entire place would look as charred ash on the ground beneath his heels.

Tourists swept through on the odd occasion, but upon a visit to the latter – why they even considered the dirt hut worth their attention, let alone money, even he didn’t know – hurriedly departed.

It was a surprise then, when a bus that by all means should just have trundled through the town without rest, instead ended its journey and spewed two inhabitants who, if the array of battered leather cases were any type of indication, seemed to be in town for the long haul.

He instantly popped to existence to float lowly above the vehicle, watching with interest as the poorly named Speedy Beaver juddered from snail pace to reluctant halt, coughing blackened tar from the depths of its lungs as the doors slid in a disjointed creak, open.

His one eye blinked lazily as barely a moment passed before a figure hurtled from out of its insides, the miniaturised meatsack narrowly avoiding faceplanting the ground in their desperation to escape the imprisonment of machination as fleshy lips threw back to polished silver sheen bars with a near inhuman screech, punctuated by an upwards thrust fist, “FREEDOM! SWEET FREEDOM! AIR, SWEET, BREATHABLE AIR!”

The female slurped obnoxious bursts of oxygen before throwing their head back to whine in exasperation at the second form to her back, the figure balanced cautiously in the opened frame, tiny in stature and scrawny in build, skittering eyes hooded beneath a messy tangle of chocolate, flitting in an increasingly fearful sweep of surroundings.  With the panicked expression and quivering terrified figure, the kid reminded him easily of a startled deer frozenly watching its fast approaching death.

“I dunno, Mabel.” Deer Boy nervously wrenched a hand across his shoulder as he descended the bus steps to join his companion. “This place gives me the creeps. It feels like someone’s watching us.” Bill tittered at how accurate the kid was. Not that the boy would know, Bill being invisible and all. Still, it was painfully ironic, something Bill, as he floated down for better vantage, could quite easily appreciate. 

The boy’s fingers roughly patted his hair as if he knew Bill were now perched in the nest of curls. It was interesting how susceptible the kid seemed to the differing plains of existence, as if like Bill he could almost transverse each reality, something made even stranger by the fact that the boy was a bundle of nervous wreck.

“Yeah right bro bro.” the girl scoffed. “Someone just stayed up too late last night to watch spooky kooky stuff.” Her fingers wiggled maddeningly at the sides of her face. “Ooooooh I’m the ghost of Dumb Brothers Past, I’m gonna haunt youuuu ooooooooh.” She straightened, dismissing the hands to her side, grinning. “It’s all in your mind.”

Any possibility of comfortable ride was rapidly dismissed as it quickly became apparent the kid would be snapping his head back over his shoulder every twenty seconds for the entirety of journey, the force of the move throwing Bill’s reclined form sharply to each side. Unlike the sister sprinting eagerly ahead, the brother lagged, taking cautious, tentative steps, as if terrified the ground may open up and swallow them whole. Bill wouldn’t lie – it was a delicious possibility to imagine, but one that sadly, was currently out of his power range to bring about. A right shame too, given the direction the pair were heading.

He drew back an angry hiss. Of course the next disturbance to the sleepy town would be caused by the Pines family. They just didn’t know the meaning of quiet and peaceful. The wish that he could just disembowel the newcomers before they reached the door – leave a nice present for Stan _ford_ (the name raised another low giggle, that one _always_ cracked him up) on the lawn only increased.

Female and male, nothing outwardly noticeable about the two, other than the boy seemed close to hyperventilating and the girl, her companion’s almost polar opposite, appeared to be extremely hyperactive. It was a strange combination, but if they were related in any way to the Pines then they would be no strangers to strange.

“Dipper, hurry up,” the girl screeched to the struggling child as she dragged a battered case onto the wooden planks of porch. He cackled. Dipper? What kind of name was that? A bad one, Bill decided. Poor kid must have been hated by his parents or something.

No matter, he would simply pick a different one. He ran through random names, but all seemed as ill-fitting as the male’s original. Call a raincheck on it then. “Coming Mab-el.” The male squeaked, voice splintering towards its conclusion. The display was pathetic to an almost adorable degree and Bill found himself torn between simply shattering their existence or keeping their skin as a rug in his palace decorum when he inevitably conquered this dimension.

The girl – Mabel – cheerily pounded on the door face, stepping back at the eruption of muffled clanks and bangs echoing from the other side.

“FEZ!” Bill cried, silence settling as the door swung, the girl stilling, the boy shivering, at the appearance of the poorly dressed grey-haired elder. He grinned, excitedly leaping from the boy’s curls with a hand snapped out for the man to shake. “Old buddy, old pal how are ya you old coot? It’s been far too-“ The outstretched hand phased through the upper half of Stan’s body as he stepped forward to greet the arrivals. Bill huffed indignantly, crossing his arms and eye flashing a bolt of scarlet, the demon snippily snarking, “Rude.”

“Kids! I er, wasn’t expecting you till Monday,” The man mumbled in gravelled tone as one hand inelegantly scratched the back material of his striped shorts.

The boy shifted his weight, head turned to glance nervously to the girl before returning to the elder as he mirrored the awkward pitch. “But uh, great uncle Stanford, it is Monday.”

“Please Dilan-“

“ _Dipper._ ” The boy hurriedly corrected in a lowered growl.

“-Just call me Stan.” The man continued over the outburst, glancing behind the pair, unease mirrored in the worry crinkling his haggard brow. “You should come in. I ain’t being held responsible if you two catch colds.”

“Okay, lead the way Grunkle Stan.”

Stan paused, confused in the doorway. “Grunkle?”

“Great Uncle. Grunkle.” The girl chirped in happy explanation, blazing through Bill's body as she dashed past.

“Yeah, words, huh.” He grunted, then turned and addressed the now lone boy. “Does she do that often?”

“More than you would think. You’ll get used to it. Probably.” The kid added after a beat, before brushing past to follow his sister. His form twitched slightly as he passed through Bill, another backwards glance following, one hand scratching restlessly beneath the curls' edges at the back of his neck.

Stan gave one last suspicious glance, hilariously ignorant to the demon currently tiredly playing with the ends of the tassle of his fez, his eyes narrowing as they swept the yard before the man turned and closed the door behind his form to a resolute slam. 

Bill grinned as he followed the pair up the rickety stairs. Maybe the dumb backwards hick town had more to offer after all.

* * *

 

Bill’s afternoon nap was disturbed by a girlish screech and the roared engine of a golf buggy. An odd sentence, but one that over the past few days had been rapidly losing its originality. The newest bearer of the Journal had a surprising knack for finding trouble and a difficulty in grasping the definition of ‘Dangerous, stay away.’ Which usually suited Bill just fine. It felt like millennia since he had last seen any kind of mutilation – especially bad paper cuts not counting.

However, he did **not** appreciate almost falling from the tree branch doubled as a hammock as he was startled awake to the high pitch shriek that had become commonplace and shattered any illusion of peace somewhere off in the nearby distance.

His eye snapped open in buzzed annoyance, disjointed consciousness fuming as it searched the area to find, huh that was weird, even for him. The new meat being chased down by a giant gnome structure created by hundreds of the shortstack annoyances. His rage paused, momentarily forgotten as his hands forwent the urge to rip the kid’s head from his shoulders. Well that was…interesting.

He blipped to the area, swinging his legs cheerfully against the backs of the steering wheel; the kid’s hand’s phasing right through him as they wrenched the wheel in differing directions in a so far surprisingly successful attempt to keep the vehicle uncrashed and upright.

“Ooooh, right in the face!” Bill crowed as the girl’s hand connected with the body of a gnome that had hungrily attached itself to the boy’s face, the sister screeching in curdled rage as she continued to frenziedly pummel both the creature and her brother’s features.

He laughed as the body of the creature was thrown to the air, the boy, now sporting a delightfully purpled eye, blearily mumbling a half intelligent “Thanks Mabel,” to which the girl responded with a happy chirp of “Don’t mention it.”

“DIPPER WATCH OUT!”

What followed the crazed warning was a nigh unbelievable chain of crashed golf buggy, fake marriage scams, leaf blowers and flying gnomes. All of which Bill happily observed, bobbing lazily in the air, a box of popcorn floating at his side, the outlines of the box wreathed in a light blue glow. The deliciously yellowed kernels of confectionary were one of the few good things meatsacks had managed to knock out of their dumb brainless minds.

“Awkward sibling hug?” The boy ventured, stretching his arms wide in invitation.

“Awkward sibling hug.” The girl confirmed, the two’s forms melding as arms reached to both of their backs in a loudly emotionlessly intoned unison of “pat pat.”

Ok human emotion. Just ew. No. His eye rolled in its place, disgusted as the two fleshies embraced. “Boo, hiss, get a room, keep it PG!” He howled, dumping the remnants of the box on the boy’s oblivious head. He tuned out the scene, and when concentration returned the two were inside, dragging their heels to the direction of giftshop exit.

“…You can er, choose one thing from the giftshop, on the house.” Stan finished lamely, his fingers running over the tops of a thick wad of paper emerald clutched in his meaty hand.

“What’s the catch?” The boy paused in his sullen track, narrowing his eyes as he questioned suspiciously.

Stan stored the stack in his left jacket breast pocket as he gruffly answered. “The catch is do it before I change my mind.”

The siblings’ faces rose as the two split, each searching the shelves with a renewed vigour. The boy paused, eying the collected row of accessories thoughtfully before one hand hesitantly swiped one of the gathered objects, the tangled mass of russet curls disappeared to a blue and white trucker hat.

“And I will have a…GRAPPLING HOOK!” The girl howled in splitting announcement, whooping in victory as she proudly hefted the metal gun from the cardboard box dug through to the sky. Not that anyone took much notice; all focus of the room’s other inhabitants was heavily placed on the unwitting boy currently glancing at his figure in a dust-licked mirror.

Bill’s eye glinted as he stared at the shape; two blue triangles stacked on their top edge to the stretched base. Stan’s face blanched as his own burned into the symbol, panic filtering through the gaze before abruptly cloaked, hidden behind a set scowl. “Wouldn’t you, er, like something else?” The boy smiled to his reflection as a hand briefly adjusted the rim of the blue and white cap. “Nah, I’m good.”

Bill grinned as he stared at the latest sign of Zodiac. He knew he liked Pine Tree for a reason. It seemed his naturally amazing gift for names had returned, and to a brilliant stunner of a winner at that. **Pine Tree**. He clapped his hands in childish glee as he circled the boy, the two mirrored in their admiration of his latest treasure. Yes Pine Tree. The name was perfect.

“Congratulations Dipper Pines,” He murmured to the boy who was now unknowingly being showered in a landslide of unseen buttercup strands of confetti that fell into existence from the ceiling, climbing the boy’s shortened stature, illuminated by glowing sloped amber letters etched into the air behind his figure, filling the entire width of giftshop to vividly spell 'DING DING WE HAVE A WINNER!"

The tower of confetti quickly built to the boy’s chin. “You’ve managed to catch my eye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my laptop died. Rest in Peace you beautiful bastard. Your temperament and determination of sudden battery jumps shall be sorely missed. Luckily pretty much everything I had scrabbled down was also stored on three separate memory pens - guess that paranoia really did come in handy. 
> 
> So, that was part 1 of Bill Cipher's obsession, set, as you can tell, in the Episode of Tourist Trapped, with a few details and dialogue tweaked for a better fit. Your stalker levels are showing again there, Bill.
> 
> And with that I shall return to the depths from whence I came, because someone has to write all those other chapters and who needs sleep. Or food. Or a social life when you can spend your entire time cooped up in your dimly lit room hissing at any hints of sunlight through the wrenched closed curtains?  
> ~MUI


	32. For the Last Time, It's NOT Stalking, It's Walking, Extremely Close Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, tell us Bill, how'd you meet the love of your life?
> 
> Well the first time we met I shot him in the chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part Two of Intermission Phase, a continuation of Bill's history with his Pine Tree, taking place between the episodes of Double Dipper and Dreamscaperers in the head canon of Bill having always watched the twins even before their first canon meeting. 
> 
> Watching him sleep Bill? That's not *cough* creepy *cough* not creepy at all...

Okay, let’s get things scalene here. Bill was not obsessed with Dipper Pines. He was very slightly interested in the being who after countless centuries of failure, not for lack of trying mind you, had actually come close to quenching Bill’s boredom. Now that that’s done you can fuck off with all the lovey dovey schmuvvy stuff.

Bill Cipher didn’t fall in love – didn’t spend his time poured to covers of notebooks to swirl hearts and loops of ‘Dipper Cipher’ across the leathered surface like some sickened airhead schoolgirl flesh suit.

At first it was just casual interest. The type shared between murderer and murder victim. The I-will-use-you-to-eradicate-my-enemies kind. Dipper was the grandnephew of the upstart Sixer who had ruined his plans (still a sore point). And Dipper was weak. And lonely. And impressionable. All qualities Bill looked for in a friend.

And he was interesting. Even more so than his great uncle. All that brain bundled up in jitters of anxiety and dormant resentment that given the right push would be about as much fun to watch explode as Vesuvius (now _that_ had been a fun day).

Not to mention that he was a freaking comedy genius. All those bruises and near concussions? The walking into walls and constant need to impress those he surrounded himself with? Hilarious! The kid was a comedy goldmine, and it seemed only Bill could fully appreciate that. Voice cracks? Cute but dumb. Swings of moral compass, near death experiences, pulses delightfully slowing, fragile twig bones snapped the wrong way? Absolutely side-splitting!

If pathetic was cute this kid was a burning dimension and two apocalyptic wastelands rolled into one. (Three for the price of one – come on people, now that’s a deal anyone would be cuckoo crazy not to take).

And then came the night when casual interest became urge to possess. When Pine Tree finally lifted that dumb shag of fringe and revealed the source of his even dumber name; whaddya know the kid’s parents didn’t hate him --- well they probably did, just didn’t show it through poor brand marketing.

In the narrowed hallway to the echoing thump of poorly played synthetic music. That was when the world stopped, when Bill realised all his plans of world-ending had just been rewritten on the spot. That the kid who had stumbled into the town, afraid the pavements would open and devour him, and leapt a foot into air at his own shadow, was something truly special. A nugget of gold in this shitstain of reality.

“Oh Pine Tree,” he purred, ignoring Red who was still prattling on about how hideous she had been in shorter years. _Boring._ He would never understand why the pine twig was so infatuated with her. He had bared his itty bitty heart to her only minutes ago and she had laughed. Normally he wasn’t one to judge a sense of humour, but this, this was no joke, this was—

“ **Beautiful**.” One clawed finger traced the stars blazed across the boy’s brow. _Dubhe. Merak._ “Pine Tree Pine Tree Pine Tree.” He tutted in feigned disappointment. _Phecda. Megrez_. “How could you hide this from me?” _Alioth. Mizar._ “I thought we had something special.” _Alkaid._

The starchild with the skies painted across his face. Painted there for Bill, because who else deserved such a gift? No one. Not Red, not the up her own ass blonde, certainly not the girl who had the gall to call him brother while selfishly unloading all her needs onto his life – no matter the consequences for the boy. He was part of **his** Zodiac. Dipper Pines was property of Bill Cipher. Even if he didn’t know it yet.

 He grinned as the boy turned on his heel and floated himself to sit his body atop the not quite teen's shoulder. "You and me, kiddo." His eye glinted in the poor light as one hand stretched to pat the cheek above him. "We're gonna be great friends."

* * *

 

He hadn’t left the kid’s side since the night of the party. Had watched the Pine Tree in his adventures, seen him cast aside his happiness for his dumb sibling in accordance to that magnificent martyr complex he possessed (his happiness for a _pig_ , kid had a lot to learn about making bad deals), had observed and applauded as the boy bought a gremloblin to the Shack and showed it off like some common trick pony in a petting zoo. He hadn’t stuck the landing though – actually showed _regret_ and _guilt_ when two bags of bones were dragged off in a meat wagon after seeing their worst nightmares.

No, no, no, **wrong.** Bill would have to teach him that. You didn't show guilt for the creation of two new mental institutee's. You laughed and told the guys in charge to make the straitjackets extra tight.

He took to watching the kid sleep at night and stayed perched on the brim of his hat for the entirety of the time the boy was awake. For once Bill had something to take an interest in. Dipper was his shiny new toy and he’d be damned if he didn’t play with it till it was broken and buried in the ground.

It would be a shame, he had conceded one day as he swung his little legs back and forth into the air, his back edge pushed against the tree insignia that gave the boy his identity as he drowned the nauseating tones of Shooting Star – the girl spewing her drawl to his front, spieling about something like, _ugh,_  theromance she was obsessed over (now that right there, was one major dose of craze-ee even he wasn't touching with a ten foot dismembered limb) – out, when the toy finally did break, but well, matchstick legs were so fragile and Bill wasn’t the gentlest playmate.

His things had a nasty habit of…snapping. But honestly how was he supposed to know you couldn’t just keep bending it that way? It wasn’t his fault these things didn’t come with their own care manuals.

He watched him sleep and trailed him round, dedicating every second of his existence to watching the two new arrivals. But despite the trail of triangles and very obviously left open page of Journal 3 on his lovely portrait for the kid to find, the boy just wasn’t getting it.

Weeks passed and though they had shared the same room, bed, even shower space (hardly embarrassing given that Bill saw no point, nor indulged in the weirdness of fabric coverings) they were yet to share a single conversation.   

So when the deal came up to enter Stanley’s mind and the short stack of flab finally gave him opportunity to interact with the object of his curiosity, he’d giggled. _Riches, chicks, safe combinations, whatever you want kiddo. Shake my hand. Done deal._ And leapt into the elder’s mind, prowling round the shuffled corridors until Pine Pint took that magnificent swirl of magic banging about that bone body of his for a test drive.

And they’d met.

Finally, finally confronted each other. God and worshipper, together at last! Sure, he’d shot him through the chest but he would _recover_. And the screech of terror had been delicious, exactly like all the other sounds elicited by the boy whenever he faced death, only better, because it had been crafted by Bill.

It had all been going perfectly. The kid was starting to resent his uncle – enough to leave Bill to destroy his mind, now that was _harsh,_ beginnings of a psychopath right there – and he’d finally noticed the entity who had graced him with taking interest on his measly existence, smartly knew to be terrified too. Though sadly he didn’t know yet to drop to his knees in immediate subservience. While a shame, Bill guessed that would come with time; anything could be fixed with patience and the right amount of crowbars.

Yes, everything had been going perfectly. Until Shitty Star fucking shot the safe combination into a Bottomless Pit. Until the blubbered brat had **_ƅƦƠƘƐƝ ƮƕƐ ƊƏƌƪ._**

And maybe Bill lost a teeny bit of temper and tried to wipe them all from existence. But they would have reformed. Probably. We~ll probably not. Most things reduced to inanimate goop in the mind tended to stay as inanimate goop in the mind. If Mini Pine hadn’t stopped him then Fez might have been cleaning the insides of half his family and the man baby man off the outsides of his memory doors.

Whoops, that would probably have messed things up for him in the future too, given that the suicidal pair were both a part of his Zodiac – jeez, you wait millennia for one to pop up, then thirty years later and there’s near the full set cavorting about his heels all jumping over each other in their eagerness to be decapitated.  But it didn’t matter because Pine Tree had saved him from making that particular faux pas.

It was almost cute how they all banded together under the power of friendship to ‘defeat him’. Yack yack, believe in yourself this, we have the power that, terribly bland and not at all creative, but that defiance was adorable nonetheless. Part of the reason why he liked the kid so much, not just the smarts, magic and demonstration of death wishes. Boy had one big hero complex to go on the side with the martyr's; he had the air of one of those who wouldn't give up the fight to protect their friends till they were a rotting corpse in the dirt. Bill always got on well with those types. They were so delightfully easy to manipulate. Dangle the possibility of one family death and boom - instant profession of undying loyalty!

Bill grinned as he bopped the pock of Alkaid through the kid’s licked bangs. He’d hung a dreamcatcher above his bed – the insistence of the so as to speak pig in the room occupying the other bed – in an adorable but useless effort to keep the triangle out of his head.

Pine Tree took after his great uncle in another aspect of ia – insomnia. By the time the boy was finally out like a light the sun was almost returned and Bill had been nearly driven mad(der), doing everything he could so as not to give into temptation and have a wood beam fall on the half zombie so as to force the boy melded to the journal into unconsciousness.

But eventually rubbed bloodshot doe eyes slid closed and little rumbles of breath poured from pink blush lips. Bill arranged the curls around his form so as to form a blanket of sorts and eagerly dipped himself into the boy’s dreams. Dreams which were delightfully filled with well, _him_.

Bill shattered the copy of himself Dipper’s mind had conjured, slipping into its place with ease. Its form was surprisingly sturdy as artificial doppelgängers went. Dipper had captured his devilish good looks in perfect copy. Further evidence of just why those polished cogs banging about that thickened skull of his were so desirable. 

His smile grossly stretched and he rubbed his hands together, cackling with manic glee as a russet unruly mop stumbled off, the figure shooting their head back to sweep the area in suspicion over one shoulder before they rounded a corner in the distance. _Play time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a new laptop begins it's journey, with all new folders entitled 'Dear God What Have I Created'. Sin, smut, gore, sometimes I question my sanity as I sit here and think how the hell do I come up with this stuff? To be honest I'm not sure I want to know the answer.
> 
> Okay, so there's going to be a slight change in plan and update schedule. Nothing to worry about, this is still going, you'll get your daily fix of insane Dipper and possessive Bill same as usual, I promise, so put down that chainsaw before you hurt someone - namely me. 
> 
> But with life rearing it's ugly head (hard as it is to believe, no I'm not trapped in this laptop, I really do have a life outside this screen), I'm going to have to delay taking requests for drabbles. And that's because pretty soon I'm going to get really busy - and I mean REALLY busy. Summer ends folks. 
> 
> Which makes juggling four regularly updated posts impossible. It's near insanity as it is just trying to keep up with three and fitting in food and regular exercise but dangit my fingers have an unhealthy addiction to keyboards and what else are you supposed to do at 5am? Sleep? Psssscht, don't be ridiculous.
> 
> With that scare over, I'll cease my rambles. Chapters to write, characters to mutilate, meals to miss.  
> ~MUI


	33. Pine Tree on a Puppet String

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've got no strings  
> To hold me down  
> To make me fret, or make me frown  
> I had strings  
> But now I'm free  
> There are no strings on me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pART Three of Intermission Phase, a continuation of the delve into the past, this time set between the episode of Sock Opera and the beginning of chapter one. Yeah that's right people, the wait's almost over! Part Two will be starting soon...

“A puppet.”  The kid echoed disbelievingly, his eyes narrowing to their usual adorable suspicion as Pines Paranoia Syndrome kicked in. “What are you playing at?”

“Everyone loves puppets!” Bill laughed in a totally innocent-no-I’m-not-trying-to-steal-that-body-of-yours-silly way. “And it looks to me,” He floated over to the stand filled with the weird googly-eyed thing, experimentally poking one of the monstrosities. “Like you’ve got a surplus”

“Huh...I dunno man,” Dipper paused, scratching a developed itch at the back of his skull. “Mabel worked really hard on these…” Bill forced the shudder away. Mabel Pines really was one side of insanity even he couldn’t understand or appreciate. Edible sparkles, spews of silly string and a slew of handknitted sweaters. Not to mention the boy obsession. Craze-ee.  

“Seems to me one little puppet is a small price to pay to learn all the secrets of the **universe**.” His voice deepened as his bricks receded to a snapshot of said universe, Dipper’s head snapping up as if electrocuted as he stared wistfully to the scene of star shooting across the opened landscape.

“Besides,” he simpered. “What’s your sister done for you lately?” Dipper’s expression hardened, resentment dripping from the set scowl that formed as the universe disappeared; replaced by a slideshow of the times he’d suffered to help his sister.

“How many times have you sacrificed for her and when has she ever returned the favour?” He coaxed, then reached his hand out in offering, wafting the flame that burst from his palm invitingly to the backing echo of frantic beep, knowing he was _so, so close_ , just a little bit _more_. As if in reminder of how little time the boy had he added helpfully. “Tick tock kid.”

Dipper’s eyes wrenched from the countdown to Bill’s hand. His inner dilemma mirrored in the softened mocha glass that reflected Bill's brightly dazzled form.  

“….just one puppet?” He sighed as if in disbelief of what he was going to do. Not that he had much choice. Bill could be _very_ persuasive and the poor thing was already so stewed in resentment for his sister’s abandonment that he was making this almost painfully easy.

“Fine!” The kid shouted, snapping his hand over Bill’s and yelping as the flame engulfed his fingers. He pulled away, nervously stuttering. “So what puppet are you going to pick anyway?”

“Hmm, lets see,” Bill paused, tapping his front edge as if deeply lost in thought. “Eeny, meeny, miney, **YOU!** ” His voice dropped to a boomed clap of thunder as he cackled, leaping forward to pull at the boy’s arm, his hand sliding into the skin upon contact, pushing Bill’s form _in_ and yanking Dipper’s _out_.

“What!” The kid jumped to a frenzied screech in that delicious mix of fear and betrayal, as if having his sack of bones stolen was something to make a huge fuss about. Bill would look after it, mostly, besides the owner had so casually given it away. Kid had a lot of scientific smarts rumbling about in that head, not so much the correct terms for demon deal-making. Honestly, ‘you will not steal my body’ was the first condition any client should ever set. Not that any of them ever did. Brainless flabs of skin that they were.

“What, this can’t be happening! What did you do to my body!” Dipper stared at his fuzzed limbs through rounded eyes, blinking rapidly in growing horror.

Bill cackled, standing from the stooped position to crush the laptop beneath one foot.

“Sorry kid," the Cheshire grin awkwardly carved across Dipper's mouth, the stretch alien to the near-constant set lines. Cat-like yellowed eyes blinked in mismatched order. "But you’re my puppet now!”

* * *

 

Bill paced. He prowled. He snarled. He incinerated the nearest living thing. A carpet of fur scampering a metre away disappeared into a pile of nameless smouldering goop.

There was something about Dipshit. Something that made Bill just want to snatch him up and drag him to the Mindscape, consensual or no. He would have succeeded too, if Shitstain Star hadn’t fucked up her part in his beautiful puppet show. But no. No Pine Pancake, no splatted stain of twelve year old jelly to scrape off the ground by the water tower, no eternal talking companion for Bill to forever toy with.

Fireworks exploded, cotton flesh met their ends at the hands of a brutal sock serial arsonist, siblings made up and everyone got to live happily ever after. Except for oh you know, the main fucking character, who remained trapped in their prison but now at a percent of their power because everything that Bill had stored up over the thirty years was **gone**. The stockpile of energy employed to escape the pull of his prison used up in two rejected deals. Defeated by a fucking finger puppet and bitch baby.

And that Bill took personally. You didn’t get to be the most feared existence in the universe by being defeated by two twelve year brats. The two younglings were proving just as difficult as Fordsy. It was like they all didn’t _want_ Bill to save their pitiful dimension from the boring and mundane. Couldn’t they see an apocalypse would be _fun_? It would be a meatbag eat meatbag world – literally!

He stilled his rage (hard to do when all your masterful schemes planned meticulously over countless millennia are royally screwed. Again.) and focused on his form, attempting to slip back into their illusion of reality. He did it quickly, like ripping a head from its shoulders.

Fumed howls split the silence of the void as the effort was met with the impact of slamming into a lead wall at light speed. For the dying beat of a pensioner’s fading heart, blue cerulean shackles burst to his limbs.

The neon daisy chain shivered in image then disappeared entirely. Pensioner dead. Bill growled, he was back to thirty years ago, only worse. The two brats were going to uncover every secret he’d tried to hide and Fez was dangerously close to returning one major pain in his back edge to the pieces board Bill had so carefully laid out, only for the entire order of the thing to be thrown out the window.

He could do nothing. No mutilations or dismemberments. Couldn’t even manage to pull himself from the cage for anything longer than five fucking seconds. So he followed through on his promise. He _watched._ He watched from his imprisonment as Stanford returned, he watched as the family sombrely gathered at the kitchen table the next day and all the resentment simmering beneath the two younger twins exploded, as words dropped into the heated conversation like dead weights, their utterances fragmenting the family irreversibly.

He watched the adventures, the excursions now awkward, interactions between the two adventurers heavy handed and forced, always ending in further argument. He watched as the two boarded the not-so Speedy Beaver, the girl embracing both men tearfully watching, the boy wordlessly shouldering his way to the back.

Half a year passed, and then the twins returned, the girl just as excited, the boy just as sullen until he disappeared off into the forest and found new animation in isolation. Spats over simple things, growls of hatred and run-ins with death. They left again at the end of the Summer. But they came back. They always came back.

He never stopped watching, never forgot. And Pine Tree never forgot about him. Every triangle was treated with suspicion, sometimes point blank avoided. Shooting Star moved on, to make up and parties and booze. But not Pine Tree. Scars heal, wounds fade. Possessions remain in the mind. You didn’t come back from one of those that easily. Socks were shoved to feet with stuttering fingers; stairs were hurriedly ascended and just as rapidly descended. Forks were raised to mouths with stressful eyes skimming over imagined lines to unblemished wrists.

The growth of meatsacks had always confused him. But one year Dipper had returned and there was nothing to confuse. Pine Pint wasn’t so pint sized anymore. The Tree had grown his needles. And what beautiful branches they were. His chest had broadened, the soft mocha hardened, his matchstick noodles had inflated with pronounced muscle. The hair had grown longer, allowed free so as to cover the sky painted across the face, the constellation still hidden, swept away like some dark secret a child desperately pushed into the deepest corners of closet that must never come to light.

The startled deery-ness was still there; his shape jittery wherever he stumbled – social anxiety would do that to a fleshbag. The anxiety had led to habits of bitten lips and violently pulled russet ends, chocolate springs twisted in hangman’s nooses around prying fingers.

The insomnia had carried too, his eyes puffed and bloody raw, as had the paranoia; furtive glances hurriedly cast over shoulders as he slunk down the street, shoulders hunched, hands shoved to pockets as he crept, sticking to the shadowed outline of buildings by his side.

There was no adoration in the glances he sent Sixer; death glares, each beautiful in their unspoken threats. Resentment boiled just beneath the surface, the presence hidden to most but not Bill. Not Bill. Bill was too observant to not miss the curled fists, whitened knuckles, hacks of heavy breath whenever the poor thing was thrown into the same room as his sister.

They moved rooms, split apart in all senses of the term. The tree overshadowed, threatened to be burned to forgotten cinders by the brilliance of the star’s blinding light.

They left. They returned. They left. Still he watched.

Candles of a cake spelled sixteen. He could appreciate the mini invitation of arson but the celebration he would never understand – one year closer to death, it was almost as if every meatbag looked forward to their end of existence.  Still, he indulged in it, sending his own gift along with the ribbon cubes that nestled in an untidy stack beside the sweet.  

And then one year summer ended early. Suitcases were packed to a second thought in a hurry, the two bundled off without the usual hullabaloo of farewell party, sat like bookends at the separate edges of the bus’s back row, their luggage piled between the two seats in between as if a tower built to block the other out.  

A week passed and the twins returned, Dipper noticeably lacking one case he had left with. Trees lost their leaves. Darkness crept closer faster, night swallowing day earlier. White flakes stained the carpet of rusted floor beneath feet. But the twins stayed.

Another cake; this time split into two, each with an enclosed ring of ghost flickers counting eighteen. One shared between a noisy throng to synthetic boom, the other gifted to a sole existence, angrily shoved, forgotten to the side of a cluttered desk, each burning stick of wax throwing slight illumination to the figure leaned angrily to the window with arms folded, puffed breaths fogging the cracked glaze as they stared at the mobbed scene below them.

A week later Bill watched from his jail cell as Dipper crept away in the dead of morning, his form slipping into the line of darkened forest that fenced the yard. He laughed as the kid got too close to the creature he had searched out, disappearing with a surprised scream into the murky waters of the stumbled upon lake. 

Bubbles of air frantically crested the rippled surface, a russet mop soon joining them as the boy clawed his way back onto the shore, body collapsing to a messed heap of limb as he trembled on the sand line, head thrown to the sky as ragged breaths rattled from purple cracked lips. Knuckles were dusted grey on the container they curled around, steel in their hold of the object like a sinking man clutching at the nearest plank of driftwood in the vast stormy ocean.  

Bill grinned as the kid heaved himself to his feet and unsteadily stumbled off, drunkenly making his way back to the ramshackle hut he called home. The pull of the void had lessened its sticky hold, the chains that prevented escape near non-existent now. Keeping a low profile and staying in what was effectively battery saving mode over the last six years - annoying though it was - had meant he now had enough power to fuel two hurried journeys to the world which would be plenty enough to kick start the new and improved plans for world domination. All he needed now was a puppet, gullible and easy enough to manipulate. 

Bill's eye glinted as he watched Dipper's soggy frame trip over an upturned root, the boy hauling himself to continuation to a string of colourful swears. A puppet. A dark chuckle rumbled the space around him. And he knew exactly which one he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's intermission period over - prologue for part 2 will be up on Wednesday. Say farewell to the lighthearted fluff, and hello again to heavy gore, angst, smut and me thinking up every way possible to fuck over all your favourite characters in the worst ways imaginable. So you know, just the normal stuff that comes from the furthest corners of my depraved mind. 
> 
> There'll be a lot of gore-heavy and smut-heavy chapters (you can't say I'm not nice to my readers) but as usual there'll be plenty of warnings beforehand. I've been doing some serious digging into the history books and I must say, I feel inspired, so if you know any particularly painful methods of historical torture, chances are it will be coming up, lucky you. There'll be a couple of gore level 10s too, with tags to be updated as certain events occur.
> 
> Well, I'll see you Wednesday. Restock those flashlight batteries, folks. Shits gonna go sideways real fast.  
> ~MUI


	34. Old Endings to New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a year since Dipper and Bill Cipher disappeared from the Mystery Shack, each seemingly vanishing from the face of the earth. Unable to offer any other explanation, the town unhappily accepts that the boy is dead, buries an empty box and attempts to forget the tragedy and move on. 
> 
> Refusing to believe Dipper is gone, Mabel determinedly sets out to find her brother, save his soul and bring him back home once and for all. Despite countless hours of research she makes no progress until the anniversary of Dipper's vanishing finds a buttercup flower tauntingly rested at his grave.
> 
> Horrified, Mabel realises Bill Cipher is back in Gravity Falls. Now she just has to find out what the demon has done with her brother, his loving puppet.
> 
> But Bill hates when others touch his things and he isn't going to give up his favourite piece of property without a few dozen murders, mutilations and attempts at genocide.
> 
> So begins a game between a cast of reluctant players where consequence is deadly and life determined in the bat of an eye, with the stakes set not just to save one life but irreversibly alter the entire world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome folks, one and all, old readers and new, smut-seekers and gore-pleasers', to The Boy That Time Forgot, part 2 in this twisted carnival of madness and depravity that offers an invitation to the darkest stretches of insanity should it be accepted. 
> 
> So please, do leave all sanity behind in the illusion we dub reality and let us resume from where we left off...
> 
> (Updates will resume normal schedule of 11.30 EST, 8.30 PST, 15.30 GMT on Tuesday/Thursday/Saturday as of the 26th)

The girl sat, her face barely illuminated by the suffering glow of a flickering desk light. The dulled shine painted a poor portrait of her features; the cheeks left sunken and tone shaded a sickly gaunt yellow to the one prick of light in the otherwise stygian crypt.

She was slumped heavily over a stretched sheen of ebony log so dark it could be easily mistaken for the shadows lapping at its legs. The ocean of wood was almost totally obscured from sight by paper scrap tatters that blotted nearly all the knotted surface in favour of hundreds of thinly lit stained markings, all varying in form and shape, but all appearing as ancient as the accompanied texts they were ascribed to.

One eye tiredly skimmed the contents of the weathered parchment rested in unevenly stacked piles, a hand leaned into the butt of her chin, its fingers restlessly scouring over the bandaged patch latched in a firm hold of the other pupil.

She wearily pushed a russet limp straggle from the edge of her vision to behind the ring of a lobe, the hand then falling back to skim over the inked lines and trace the imprinted swirls of runes and glyphs adorning the closest page.

To the side of the pile sat a scarlet leather-bound cover, a faded gold six-fingered print with a briskly etched ‘3’ in the hand’s middle pinned to the book’s surface. It was abandoned, with a wall of dust implying the lengthiness of discard. A small monocle was threaded on twine to the book’s spine, the face of the fogged glass circle splintered to an uneasy half in its middle.

A calendar had been pinned and swung haphazardly in its place on the wall, the hammered nail head on which the plastic rings hung buckled and skewwhiff. Each of the spaces chronicling the days of the month so far had been slashed to angry overlapped X’s in furious blood marker.

“Cipher,” The girl wearily spat the name with a practised hatred. She rubbed circles into her temples before rejecting the page pressed to the pile’s top to join its brethren of useless informants to the desk's far side.

One hand moved to the plastic box beside the light, dipping to the insides to withdraw the yellowed guts of its contents. Fingers angrily crushed the buttered petals as she keened aloud in sharpened pain, as if a blade had suddenly entered her stomach.

She moaned, shoulders collapsing as they struggled to bear the weight of the world. 

“ _Dipper._ ” The second name was uttered in stark contrast to the first, the two syllables breathed aloud despairingly in a tone heavily steeped in stricken grief.

The fragile sunlight fell through her fingers in ragged tatters to a broken heap atop the piled parchment. She made no move to gather them. “Where did you go?”

 


	35. Convenience Inconvenience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inconvenience at the convenience store

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And back to the 2am jelly bean-fuelled writings we go. But it's not like there's any other way to get things done
> 
> ...right?

 

Mabel Pines stumbled through the convenience store’s doors at the perfectly humane time of 3.42am. Every of her steps were faltering and unsure, as if each foot were locked in a brutal battle for dominance of their direction. Each slap of sole echoed unsteadily on the hardened tile, a hand briefly rubbing over an eye, the lid screwing beneath the sudden scrutiny of floundering spotlight hung from above.

She dragged herself over to the one brightened splash of colour among the otherwise grey landscape stretched before her, the rainbow aisle a long-time favourite due to its trove of assorted candies that had always held some avid fascination to her childish self.

She staggered off balance, her mind stuttering in its semi-lucid grasp of reality, thoughts fogged beneath the roll of cloud that had set, numbed to a half delusional daze by the copious amounts of alcohol pulsing through her veins.  _Perhaps_ , she drunkenly mused as she involuntarily keeled to the side, narrowly avoiding an intimate encounter with a cardboard cut-out,  _twelve shots of tequila had not been such a great idea._  She might have been able to focus a little better if the world would very kindly refrain from spinning like some possessed teacup ride at the carnie’s.

The hard block of plastic that was her phone lay nestled against the top of her leg, the brick lost to the depths of her pockets. She’d lost patience and snapped it dead earlier, then stuffed it into the left side of the jacket hung loosely from her shoulders.

She hadn’t looked at it since, but upon punching in her pin she had no doubt she’d be faced with an endless wave of alerts from the blonde she was currently hiding from, each scrawl of fumed line angrier than the last. She knew Paz was worried about her. Everyone was. That came with the territory of having a missing presumed dead brother, broken family and disowned parents. But she couldn’t face their pity. Not today. Not when she knew Bill Cipher was around. Worse. Had popped up on the anniversary like some uninvited guest crashing a surprise party.

She scanned the contents of the rows in a move lacking all normal concentration, the usual countless minutes spent to warring indecision reduced now to mere seconds as her fingers ran down each shelf before the digits paused, shakily snatching an indiscriminate colourful wrapper from the boxed pile, barely caring to glance at the brand.

She ripped open the plucked bar, discarding the layer of inedible flesh to the ground at her feet, and rammed it angrily into her mouth. Her teeth tore into the softened insides with vicious purpose. Her weary lips twisted into a loudly voiced snarl as she allowed the mental tantrum. Bill fucking Cipher. Because he couldn’t be happy with just killing her brother. No, he had to come back and rub her face in it.

Her nails sank into the sides of her thighs as she seethed. That damned flower. He’d been there. She knew. One year and not a single fucking word and then that one fucking flower showed up at his grave. Mocking and reminding her that her brother wasn’t theirs any longer. That someone else had overthrown the bid and staked a claim to the missing youth.

Missing not dead. The correction came instinctively now. She’d had a year to practice it after all. Because she refused to believe he was gone –truly gone – until she saw the corpse herself.  Bill was powerful enough to bend the entire dimension in half simply to hop forward a mile, it made sense he would be able to heal a bullet wound, and even if he was just faking the play of matchmaker (possible but sadly doubtful given the extreme possessiveness, brands, carveries and shark chomp hickeys), Dipper was too important a piece to his plans to simply allow staying dead.

Her tongue prodded the remnants of chocolate gunk from her molars before she fell into a fit of jerked quivers, trembling like a rabbit struck with a taser gun as her body pushed into an open revolt, the floodgate of repressed memories thrown wide.

They were unwanted recollections. Of conversations in corridors with monsters, of finding her brother a murderer and traitor, of jets of sickened emerald that wrapped like chains to china flesh. Of a single gunshot that rang out like a shattered death knell through the weighted atmosphere. Of a demon’s retreating back disappearing behind a slammed door, a pair of match legs dangled limply from their sides and cradled russet mop rested to a yellowed stained crimson shoulder vanishing with the form.

Of  _after_.

After the blare of sirens like a wounded animal had faded to a dulled echoing ring, after having been sandwiched in the back of an ambulance between the two Grunkles and a smiling paramedic who cheerily told her everything would be fine as half her face decorated the seats crimson. After the compulsory trip to hospital where whitecoats had shrugged in their costumes and shoved a thinned layer of cotton over a crater and muttered as they scratched ink to clipboards that that was the best they could do.

When her world had torn to half and her head had filled with ants and she’d pressed herself further away from the two stricken men and confessed. That had been one awkward conversation – the word’s spewed to torrents of tears, once started unable to stop, the moment horrific and scarring as she detailed all events that had been hidden from the two beneath the dying bulb of kitchen light to the echo of Stan and Ford locked in enraged debate over each’s handling of the situation, Stan's fury rising further as it became increasingly apparent that the boy Ford had shot had indeed been the real Mason Dipper Pines. The heat of confrontation then escalating further still - finally ending in the harsh impact of thrown fist to face - when the man showed no remorse or regret for his actions.

She gasped as she came out of the reverie, forced out of the past and into reality with a jarring impact like a fish suddenly thrown from water to land. She glared at the empty smears running across her fingers as if they were the culprit for her situation and slunk off to another, now just as frequented aisle, frantic in her motions as she stood to a brief tiptoe and yanked the closest metal can from its place.

She turned and blanched, quickly deciding that those twelve tequila shots had not been the only bad idea of the day. She should have stayed at the bar, finished that thirteenth shot, maybe even just collapsed in the gutter, but should definitely have not made the venture here. The Dusk 2 Dawn had changed after its reopening – for one the place was rid of any psychotic spirits attempting ironic murder – but the adventure shared seven years prior still remained painfully familiar and it was all she could do to stop herself from doubling over and retching as she pictured a twelve year old Dipper, red faced and cuddled in cotton fuzz and woollen ears with a pink ribbon laced to a bow at his neck.  

She attempted a laugh at the image but the sound fell depressingly flat. Flat as an emptied coffin fallen from sixty storeys high. No, she decided, she should most definitely have not come here.

Frenzied fingers ripped the beer’s tab to a low hiss and she greedily pressed the can to her lips. She drank hungrily, as if a dying traveller lost to the desert discovering some oasis in the stretch of copper dunes. It was empty before she knew it and she shook the can, huffing a disgruntled grunt before returning the cylinder to its previous post.

Despite her hopes that the liquid would drown the visions as it had her control of limbs, the conjured thoughts of Dipper continued, each violently drilling a spear through her heart, and moisture dribbled down the side of her face. Dipper. Sweet, kind, slightly- majorly awkward Dipper. Her brother who would never intentionally harm a fly. Her brother who had sneered and manically giggled to the sight of a person burning alive. Her brother, who she had watched her great uncle shoot dead. Not dead. Her hands shook in tiny bunched fists. Missing.

Her legs buckled and slid out from her, balance betrayed to gravity, and she hit the stained tile hard. The back of her head stung slightly as it lolled limply back to dig into the hardened edges of shelving. Moans of “Dipper” fell repeatedly into the air like dead weights, the name passed mournfully from her trembling, frothed lips. Gentle, loving, sweet as a kitten Dipper.

A hand clawed at the sides of her face as she dementedly rocked her broken body into the stacked rungs. Where had they gone wrong? What had they done?

 

Could she have saved him?

 

The last thought was always the most painful, the true assassin to her heart, the third shattering any sense in the emotions that had welled upon the posing of the first two. Because she knew she could’ve. If she’d just paid a little bit more attention, reached out a little bit further, noticed the signs a little earlier. Then she wouldn’t be stumbling back tonight, drunk off her ass to a broken household with one bedroom painfully devoid of life. Then her little beta brother would be squished into the sides of a battered settee, face thrown to rapt awe at some nerd nature programme as he waited for his alpha twin’s return rather than plastered across the front of a missing persons poster.

She could have saved him. She knew she could have saved him and that was the real killer. That was the real reason for the stack of bottles as invading of the space as the pile of sweaters abandoned on the expanse of her floorboards. The explanation for every sleepless night spent locked away in the lab to the steel-trap hold of every manuscript unearthed that had even the slightest connection to the age old entity of Cipher, the provoker of every silenced scream as she curled herself to a ball behind her door and tried to block the frenzied argument taking place beneath her feet.

Bile drowned her throat further and she forced herself to clamber unsteadily back up, leaning heavily into the shelf to still the tremors wrecking her stooped figure as she choked back drunken sobs.

She stalked unevenly over to the desk, using hands to propel herself forward when needed, and hopped her weight, swaying to one leg like a drunken flamingo. Her expression twisted in screwed concentration as she hummed, poking a tongue out from stained lips, and fished around the ditch, fingers scrabbling for grip as they dug through the pocket.

They curled to the found crumpled paper and she yanked the wad roughly out, the attendant on duty barely raising their head from the glossed folds of the magazine clenched in their manicure as she slammed the fiver down to the counter for the eaten candy bar and booze then turned and tipsily staggered back out through the doors.

 

* * *

 

Bill Cipher smirked as he ran a hand over the still-panting form nestled beside him, an audible purr rumbling his throat as the male bucked, lowing a whine at his touch. Sensitive skin was sensitive skin, but that could only go so far, and a shit ton of aphrodisiac sure as hell helped what natural reaction could not.

The youth grunted in response as Bill’s fingers dug beneath the blanket and continued their exploring run of torso. The smirk widened and he piled more pressure, his efforts rewarded with a sharp keen from his partner. As evidenced by the two's hacked gasps for breath, the drug still vividly swirled in both their systems. Well, it had been double the recommended dose. Whoops. Not that he doubted neither he nor his companion would be complaining.

Said companion was currently swaddled to his side in an improvised cocoon, their lithe figure bundled up to sticky silk and wrapped in the heady tang of sweat and sex. Crystalline pearls clung to flesh glistening as if life reflected stained glass shards rather than heated cream tissue.  The curls poked from the cover’s ends wildly clung to their face, drenched wisps plastered to the sticky blushing cherub face.

Ruby puffed lips matched rose dusted cheeks; the lines that filled a deep crimson slightly paled by a stretch of opaque saliva that ran the corners in uneven dribbles. They were pushed to a pout now - but only moments ago had been thrown open, carved wide to each of the boy's bestially howled shrieks of need. The eyes that owlishly blinked as they found his were heavily dilated, their half-lidded expression full of a mirrored want, the mocha and caramel that stared back near entirely devoured by greed blown pupils.

Lust rose up like some starved beast, bubbling hungrily in his stomach and despite his reputed omniscience he was unaware of how long exactly it would be before his mind fell back into an incoherent babble of animalistic urge. Judging from the now almost overwhelming desire to snatch the covers, flip his companion round and fuck him senseless (again) that was at this moment locked in heated assault of his psyche with all the subtlety of a battering ram to the brain. Not long.

“Oh Pine Tree,” his voice was husked and guttural in its betrayal of spiralling need as he moved his hand, crossing from the raggedly heaving abdomen to hips that desperately ground into the new friction like a dog senseless to heat to skim further down, fingers stroking the sensitive areas he had long trained to his perfection, each sweetened spot mapped out and committed to absolute memory.

One hand of digits moved teasingly in time to his companion’s heavily throated moans whilst the other tore the body free from its silken mantle of confines, a tongue ghosting over his canines in eager anticipation as the boy quivered beneath his grip, their face shaded a burnt crimson at the sudden exposure.

Rouge lips pouted to a reverent whisper of _Bill_ that sounded like sex itself and Bill all too happily obliged, pushing his legs into a crawl and clambering atop the youth as he playfully ruffled the rusty locks and leaned down to breathe heavily into their ear, both figures trembling at the new intimacy.

“Ready for round two?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well someone just thawed the frozen slowburn with a blowtorch. Man it feels good to be back into this, intermission was fun and all - writing Bill always is - but there just comes a point where you need some angst and good old fashioned mutilations.
> 
> I promised shit be going sideways fast and I really do mean it. But for now just enjoy the cute Billdip, because trust me, it won't be staying cute for long. But by now you probably know that I don't exactly write sunshine and kittens and unicorns. I've tried to, I swear, but everything I touch turns to nightmare fuel. Think I'm cursed that way, eternally stuck to writing angst and sadness forever.
> 
> Next chapter will see an actual catch up with our two favourite psychopaths and may give a proper explanation of just what happened to our lovely Dip Dip. But shush, spoilers.
> 
> We've got a long way to go so you better settle in, this thing ain't ending for a long time yet. That being said, I'll see all you beauties on Tuesday  
> ~MUI


	36. Rockabye Pine Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slight explanation of exactly Dipper's situation, and wow, an actual cute moment between the lovebirds. I'm spoiling you guys, huh.

_He blinked, suddenly thrust into blackness. His eyes squinted as they tried to adjust, his feet eerily detached as they took a step forward, shaking, one, then two then a third. Panic welled as he stumbled, almost falling but he caught his balance before gravity could take hold._

_His lips parted to form words but his tongue was rotten ash and the sound stuck in his cremated throat, the desired speech reduced to a muted rasp that dragged across the insides of his gullet like iron nails scraped to chalkboard._

_He raised a hand and frantically patted the sides of his face, needing the reassurance of solid, to confirm that he was there, that he_ existed.  _Tottering steps had turned to a full sprint now, and he pelted across the landscape, stumbling every couple of hurried strides as he slipped on some thing that wasn’t_ there _, because there was_ nothing.  _Just him, the air rushing past his head, the emptiness and the_ Void.

_He didn’t exactly know why he addressed the darkened space as such, but the name had sprung to the front of his mind upon waking and somehow it fitted perfectly – Void of life and Void of, well, everything else; the space that stretched before him a barren wasteland, with nothing to discern ground from sky other than a slight two tones lower shade of pitch._

_He was unsure how long he’d been running – wasn’t even sure why he was sprinting as if his life depended on moving it across the scene as fast as possible. Maybe it did; maybe there was some big bad monster chasing behind him, or maybe he just wanted an attempt at setting a world record in fastest 100 metre retreat. But his legs yelled to run and ever the avid listener, run he did, albeit tripping over his feet every so step and to a constant string of internal cursing._

_Silence weighed upon him like a lead anchor, its dragging bulk at first only lightened by the sounds of the ragged hacks of breath rattling his teeth and the echo of a dulled heartbeat that buzzed incessantly at the back of his ears, but as he strained his focus he began to hear a voice – soft at first, but not too soft to be ignored and once identified it refused to return its silence, so as he ran he couldn’t help but prick his ears and listen._

**_“Veni mi fili.”_** _The voice seemed to have no point of origin, rather it whispered into his mind from all around him. It was melodic, the words almost a lullaby dripped to soothe the horrors brought by night. **“V**_   ** _eniunt ad domum suam.”_**

_He cocked his head to the side as if to listen better and swallowed thickly, wincing as the sandpaper tongue scratched the fleshed roof of his mouth._

**_“Caput reclinet.”_  ** _It crooned, goading him further. “ **Claudet oculos vestros.”**_

_What had sounded like a singular was actually a multitude, the tone now seemingly possessed by thousands strong, the whisper risen to a command that lapped his heels and forced him on, further , closer, reeling him in like a fish helpless to the pull of the caught on line._

**_“Reliqua autem cadere.”_ **

_He took another step, yelping in surprise as his foot_ broke _through the ground, the ankle that expected to greet a solid plunged into the mist, the limb disappearing  until the swill had sunken up to his calf._

**_“_ U _sque in sempiternum in his.”_**

_His other leg had lagged behind, leaving him stretched out in a broken splits, the ink beneath him climbing higher, swallowing both legs with ease and rising from his waist up to his chest. His hands clawed furiously at the surface, frantic in their search for a grip, but found no purchase in the ooze._

_He desperately tilted his head above the depths, mouth thrown open to a scream as tendrils forced his lips and poured through his gullet, the sticky tar invading his lungs and quickly flooding his insides. He flinched as something clawed round his ankles, flailing his leg as if to kick the thing off, but the effort was useless and whatever it was clung determinedly on, dragging him further down even as his hands frenziedly paddled to swim up._

**_“Tua rubrum lectus.”_ **

_He could barely keep his eyes open now, and the orchestra of voices were a booming roar that demanded his obedience. He gagged, choking as the last rasps of oxygen ran out, the darkness greedily clawing over the peak of his curls as he sank deeper into the Void._

* * *

 

“Fuck.” Bill swore as he smashed the door open, sprinting over to Dipper, cursing himself for ever leaving the youth’s side. But business was business and a demon has to keep his empire running, Dipper had assured him he’d be fine, telling him  _fuck off so_   _I can actually use the bed the way it was intended,_  effectively banishing him from their bedroom until the scheduled appointment ended.

Everything had been going perfectly well – Dipper was finally going to solve the unattractive bags under his eyes and the gutting of a traitor had been reaching its finishing stages, when Bill’s mind had been cloven open and overthrown to absolute terror – Dipper’s terror. And so he’d sprinted off, leaving the idiot dumb enough to get caught backstabbing Bill fucking Cipher to their impression of a porcupine – the pile of flab bleeding out onto his carpets whimpering as he crunched the bones in their palm to dust beneath his heels in his hurry, their one remaining hand clutching weakly at the seven knives skewered through their spine.

For the second time that week the boy was curled in on himself, his body shuddering as he screamed, howls of pain, each seemingly ripped out of his lungs, each further deepening the lines of sorrow writing across Bill’s features. “Sh Sh, it’s okay,” he murmured, reaching out to touch the shaking creature.

Dipper fought him at first, scratching and kicking, lashing out with his hands, but he ignored the nails that tore into his arms, scooping him up and holding him against his chest. He frowned slightly in concentration, scrunched his eyes and pushed experimentally, as if handling some precious fragile thing he didn’t want to drop.

Dipper’s mind pushed back, hard, leaving Bill feeling as if he were attempting to walk through the brunt of a hurricane. But eventually the defences relented and the boy in his arms stilled, a muffled whimper escaping from the confines of his cracked lips.

After a beat his eyes fluttered open, and once again Bill was left in silenced awe at their beauty. One had retained their chocolate doey-ness, but the other – the one that had been previously obliterated to a fractured chasm in the side of his face – was a vibrant swirl of liquid gold. Both pupils were sharpened into narrow slits that eerily blinked away confusion into a cleared focus.

“H-hey Bill.” Dipper whispered shakily, the words an uneasy rasp, as if he were learning to speak for the first time and testing the boundaries of exactly how far he could talk. “What time is it?”

Bill petted his head gently. “3am.”

“Fuck.” Dipper muttered, tongue ghosting over sharpened canines. God, Bill wished that tongue was on him instead, caressing his shins before climbing higher to his thighs and slipping to the side, igniting fires with each strip left in a gleam of molten saliva, teasingly close to his d-. NO. Bill cut the thought off, trying to silence the tidal wave of lust it had brought with it. He chided himself. Now was not the time for hot heavy sex, now was the time for soothing caresses and tightly pressed spoons of cuddles, because damn did Dipper need those right now.

Dipper licked his lips again in glorious sin, sending another punch to Bill’s gut and leaving him wondering whether he really had worked the entirety of the aphrodisiac from of his system.  _No sex now,_  Bill firmly reminded himself.  _But maybe later…_

“Another nightmare?” Both of them knew it wasn’t a question. Dipper nodded in response, pulling himself closer to Bill and placing his knees against the arms locked around his waist. “Fuck Pine Tree,” He murmured softly. “It’s alright, I got you.”

Dipper mewled and curled his body further into Bill’s, burrowing his head deeply into the base of the demon’s neck. He trembled pitifully. “I’m scared Bill. The darkness, the Void, the voices. I can still hear them.” He choked out in a stammered whisper.

“Yeah it’s okay kiddo,” Bill’s fingers soothed over the creases of Dipper’s shoulder blades. “Habit of the job. One downside of being, you know,” he twizzled his fingers to the side of his ear, lips pulled tight to a feigned wince. “Cuckoo. But they fade away, or you get used to them. Besides, they won’t hurt you, I mean, I’ve heard them for millennia and just look at me! The epitome of a perfectly functioning member of society!”

The boy sniffled his disagreement. Bill felt the form beneath him tense, and tightened his grip, worried that Dipper would recommence his wailing. A low mewl crossed his lips, and soon Bill was holding a broken male now keening softly into his shoulder. He stroked comforting rings into the taut muscles. “Hush, Pine Tree, hush.”

He shook his head, muttering “Only for you kid, only for you.” Under his breath before breaking into song, wondering as he softly crooned the words exactly how Bill Cipher had fallen so low as to sing a lullaby to soothe his lover like some pathetic sack of flesh doting parent.

 _“Rock-a-bye, Pine Tree, in the tree top_  
_When the wind blows the cradle will rock_  
_When the bough breaks the cradle will fall_  
_Down will come Pine Tree, cradle and all_.”

Dipper smiled to a small relieved sigh, his eyes drooping to the rhythm’s call, his body falling lax. He stifled a yawn and pressed his head further into Bill, passing totally limp as he drifted back off into the lull of unconsciousness.

Bill laid him gently down into the bed, carefully draping the covers back over the sleeping form. He growled as he felt the sharp tug in his gut but made a point of ignoring it. Probably Shooting Star. Again.

Shooting fucking Star. She was turning into quite the insomniac. He thought briefly back to sessions with Sixer and nights shared with a Dipper who refused to even touch his head to a pillow any time before 2am. Must run in the family. He gritted his teeth, the canines gnashing angrily together as they clashed. It wasn’t the usual time for her to start summoning him. No doubt to demand Dipper back. “ _Give my brother back, Bill. Where’s Dipper, Bill? I’m going to erase you from existence because you’re a genocidal mass murdering psychopath, Bill.”_  Up till now, he’d never quite realised exactly how grating on the nerves that voice truly was.

Every. Single. Day.

After the eighth summon attempt he’d simply refused to answer. Didn’t even show or send a message, which just led to more desperation on her part, which would have been absolutely hilarious if it wasn’t so fucking tedious. The fact that she thought she even deserved her twin back was hilarious – she’d stood there and watched as Sixer fucking shot him in the face! As far as Bill was concerned, that alone voided any claim over Pine Tree, twin sibling or not.

He looked down at the now sleeping form in his lap and absentmindedly brushed stray curls from the constellation. He marvelled at the beauty of it each time. The second time that week. Bill sighed, raking a hand violently through his hair, his fingers then falling to briefly caress the pained grimace below. It was Tuesday.

 

* * *

 

A smirk chased the lines of Bill’s mouth to form the signature Cheshire grin as his eyes blinked into awareness, blackness beaten back by the starkly illuminated rays falling in waves from the alcoves cut into the walls. The grin widened further, his searching gaze falling to the stilled form nestled to his side, the feverish gaze that of a predator stalking its prey. He dragged himself closer, throwing a thin veil of shadow over Dipper’s face.

“Rise n’ shine, sleepyhead.” Bill crowed, his mouth pressed directly into his lover’s left ear.

Dipper moaned and rolled clumsily onto his side so as to face the demon. “Fuck you.” He grumbled, half awake, the words slurring together in a near incoherent ramble.

Bill puffed his front to haughtily preen, grinning like a cat discovering a canary trapped between its claws. “Last I checked, I already did.”

Dipper groaned, blearily pawing sleep out of one eye. “Walked straight into that one, didn’t I?”

“Mmm, yes you did.” Bill giggled, levering his chest up to lean his weight onto one elbow, looming over his companion. “Look kiddo, I’m gonna be out of town for a while, so you’re gonna have to take my calls.”

“Great,” Dipper intoned, deadpanned as he propped his body up into its own seat. “I get to pretend to be an obnoxious geometric shape. Again.”

“Nah,” Bill’s fingers reached up to coast through Dipper’s curls, toying with their ends, “Go like that. Word is demon boys are hotter than vampires now.”

Dipper quirked an eyebrow, snorting in disbelief. “Since when were vampires hot? They’re walking corpses. That’s necrophilia.”

“Hmm,” Bill shrugged nonchalantly. “I guess it is.”

The lines of Dipper's face twisted out of place as he frowned. “Okay ew, doing it with a corpse? Not a turn on. That’s like ditch the date and escape through the restaurant bathroom window levels of turn off.”  He paused to glare pointedly at his companion, arms crossing over themselves in a huff. “Seriously though, dumping all your summons on me? Dick move.”

“No~pe,” Bill chirped happily. “A dick move was when I had you pinned up against the headboard last night as you screamed my name, begging beneath me for me to be inside you and I-“

“Dammit Bill!” Dipper flamed, voice rising to a screech as he quickly interrupted. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, deflating back into the pillows to a soft  _whumph_ with an exasperated sigh. He turned his face so as to meet Bill’s eyes. “Sometimes you can be a real asshole, you know that right?”

Bill smiled as he leaned down and planted a quick peck to Dipper's forehead, the boy squeaking indignantly as his hand rose up to mess the curls from their post. “Love you too babe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough translation is  
> Come my son,  
> Come to my home  
> Lay your head,  
> Shut your eyes,  
> Fall to rest,  
> forever on this,  
> Your crimson bed.
> 
> Wow, two chapters in and they're both full of cutesy Billdip moments, and so far no one has died or suffered some horrible mutilation, I think I'm losing my touch. Not that that'll be staying that way, I can promise you. Next chapter sees a crash course in exactly how to not make a deal with a demon. So yeah, someone's gonna get screwed over pretty badly. But then, all of the character cast are pretty much doomed when I'm in charge.
> 
> Welp, I've still got a full day ahead of typing/mentally breaking down further in my struggle to regularly update multiple fics, so I'll just be retreating back into documents now.  
> Till Thursday  
> ~MUI


	37. Dummies Guide to Demon Deals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Travis.  
> Say hello Travis.  
> Travis didn't like his life so he summoned a demon to make all his problems go away.  
> Travis wasn't very specific in how he talked to the demon.  
> Travis made a mistake.  
> Say goodbye Travis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another OC bites the dust. Am I evil? Probably. Do I have any regrets? Definitely not.

Travis did not normally solve his problems by employing the demented forces of the underworld, but in his defence he’d had a really bad week. If he saw another guilt-ridden pity smile or heard another  _sorry for your loss_ he was honest to god going to  _knife_  someone. Even if it was kindly old Mrs Morris who kept six cats two rooms down the hall. Come to think of it he would knife those as well, if only to shut up the damn wails that dogged his state at the bright healthy time of 2am.

It had been six shitty days of no sleep and caffeine overdoses, and so far the seventh had been no exception. He’d never been a particularly superstitious man, but his stint of sordid luck had him checking his rooms for broken glass and cracked mirrors and racking his brains for if at some point he’d walked under some ladder. Either that or he’d somehow managed to royally piss off a witch – possibly Mrs Morris, she certainly had enough cats to count as one.

It was the only explanation.

Because of course his alarm would fail to go off, and it was obvious he’d trip down the stairs after dashing too quickly for the door, and it was only inevitable that his battered  _Honda_ would nearly break down halfway to the cramped office so he’d be two hours late to a pile of paperwork a mile high that (well duh) needed sorting by lunch. He’d been pushing the edges of a mental breakdown and midday hadn’t even broken.

To put it quite simply, life had decided for some reason to turn around and bite Travis firmly in the ass. Flipping him the finger at the same time.

So when a colleague one cluttered cubicle over from his own had pointed him to some shady website that could solve all his problems he’d snorted his disbelief, returned to his papers and refused to become the butt of some stupid office prank.

But one quick internet search hidden from the mob of penguins dressed to their yellowed bills in knockoff Amani in the back of the dingy breakroom later had proven the information as accurate, the suggested site actually existed.

He’d stared dumbfounded at the text, corners of lip scrunching at the  _brightness_ of it all. For promising the painful mutilation of all your enemies the page – Cipher Services ( _Why Delay, We’re just one summoning away_ ) – was extremely chipper, with its coloured graph detailing satisfied customers and flashy yellow black bumblebee design that practically lit up the crappily bathed room like some fired distress signal flare.

But despite the misgivings of colour scheme he’d reached a decision, thought why the hell not – pun entirely intended – mentally thrown together a list of supplies based on the detailed instructions and dashed to the shops on his way back to the grimy three room waste of space flat he called home.

He’d skimmed the page, then properly knuckled down, examining each word, including the seemingly endless scrawl of small print piled along at the end, because this was the devil, and he figured if anyone ever wanted to use smallprint to screw someone over (other than the usual suspects of lawyers and accountants) it would be the devil.

And he was right, the smallprint was not pretty. He’d read flashes of  _all wording of offers will be taken only as literal meaning_  and  _any deal broken will have severe repercussions and in breaking offers the client forgoes any guarantee to their prolonged lifespan._ And if that wasn’t worrying than Travis didn’t know what was. Each line covered had the contents of his breakfast from that morning churning in his stomach, dangerously close to forcing a comeback.

Not that any of it had mattered, since he’d ignored every part of preservational instinct screaming to leave the site as some intricate setup and retreat to his mundane life; knife Mrs Morris and her six cats, hide the bodies in the dumpster outside then sort through that pile of paperwork sat on his desk while debating what to have for dinner. As it was he was feeling quite partial to lasagne.

But genius that he was, he’d ignored instinct and done the rite anyway, which was, he assumed, the equivalent of his caveman ancestors willingly walking into a sabretooth tiger’s lair unarmed and blindfolded.

And sure, he may not be the most artistic guy ever, the photo used may have been grainy and little to none in quality, the lines drawn may have been kind of sloppy and he’d definitely butchered the pronunciation, but it had worked.

Which was how he’d ended up here, frozen in place with his jaw dropped so low in imitation of an electrocuted guppy with an honest to god demon standing in the middle of his living room with the world having decided to take on the appearance of grimy television static.

He hadn’t exactly known what he’d been expecting, but when the blinding glow flooding the room faded back to a dulled focus, allowing him a proper look at whatever had been brought forth from the deepest, darkest pits of creation; well it certainly wasn’t some punk youth who couldn’t have been pushing a day past twenty. 

But apparently his overly religious mother (who attended church and sang hymns with the same seriousness as if a gun were pressed to her head and would probably be having an aneurysm right now if she knew her son had just voluntarily summoned the freaking devil) had been right and all teenagers really were hell spawn. Well he’d be damned.

Never one for intelligent conversation, Travis found himself blurting the first thing that sprang from his mind, stupidly muttering the obvious “You’re the devil.” He fought the urge to slap his hand hard to his face because there was no way he could sound dumber, but if anything, the devil looked amused as it snorted, murmuring a correction of “A,” to the addition of a climbed clipped brow and light crinkle of sneer to the edges of his lips. “I’m  _a_ demon. Not  _the_ devil.” It explained.

“O-okaaaay.” Travis stuttered, trying to pretend he understood anything of what was happening and failing spectacularly. Demon, not devil. His mind shrugged and called a strike. Fingers scrabbled at the edge of his elbow. Right. “It’s just, you don’t look like one.” He confessed nervously.

The clipped brow climbed higher as their head tilted to the side, cocked to an awkward jerk, teetered at a slant like an owl. The comparison wasn’t helped by the glowing yellow pupil rounded wide beneath one thinned arch. It blinked. “I don’t?”

He shook his head, shifting his weight, uneasy under the scrutiny of the amber eye drilling into his own emerald set.

“Oh, I can show you your worst nightmares if you’d like.” The demon brightened, its grin widening to an impossible length, puffing its chest proudly. “I’m verrrry good at that.” It added in a honeyed purr.

“No!” He screeched. “No need for that.” His hands flailed in frenzied waves in front of his chest. “Sorry, it’s just you’re a little bit…” He scratched the back of his head as he floundered for further explanation. “Normal,” he supplied poorly. “Than what I was expecting.”

“Oh, this? Well it could be worse,” the head snapped violently back into its place and he paused to lean down, dulcet tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I could be a triangle.” He laughed; a giggle that would have fit any crazed serial killer worth their salt but despite his looks somehow suited him just as well, and Travis found himself joining in with his own nervous chuckle, not sure whether or not the guy was joking.

The laugher snapped off.

“Oh but look at us, talking all about little old  _me_ , when we’re obviously here for  _you_. So mister, do tell,” The demon crooned in velvet lace. “What can a guy like me do for a guy like you?”

He blushed. He didn’t swing that way, but yeah the kid,  _demon_ , was insanely hot. Like walked straight out of Vogue pages hot. It was easy to believe he wasn’t human, because he so obviously  _wasn’t._ The shirt that dripped from his form left nothing to the imagination, the sheen of waterfall fabric enunciating toned muscle that would make Calvin Klein models break down and bawl like little boys, and the patchwork of tattoos scrawled across bulged biceps and licking the nape of his neck above a  _dog collar_ only served to outline flawless ebony china flesh.

Every minute or so the kid would ghost a pink tongue over pinker blushed lips, indulging in pure  _sin_ , and yeah, for a moment he was so tempted to run with the lust and ask to be fucked. Or to fuck him, hard and fast with his head thrown back and the two of them jammed into his bed sheets, though he doubted a demon would bottom.

He grunted, pushing sexual fantasies aside, though he knew full well next shower he took he’d be coming undone to those lips puckered against his skin, picturing those teeth hooked around the back of his lobe as he jacked off. Thank fuck his momma couldn’t see him now; she really would have that heart attack.

He swallowed thickly, mouth dry. “My fiancé died.” He finally wheezed out. “Hit and run, the guy got off, scott free. Bribed an officer and just walked out of the station.” His hands tightened into fists which he fed into his sides, words nothing more than a feral snarl as he finished. Saying it hurt more than any whispered  _my condolences_ or pity smile offered out of expectation, and he knew if he ever saw the bastard he’d be doing so much more than knifing him in the gut and leaving his corpse to die forgotten in some alley.

“So you want me to kill him.” The demon stated, nodding its head in recognition.

“No.” Travis paused, aware this was the moment that decided whether or not he’d end up a human torch. “I want you to kill him, and bring her back.”

The demon smirked. “Two in one huh?” it drawled, closing the gap between them before he could blink and raising a hand to pat his cheek. He flinched at the contact. It took everything he had not to take a step back. His muscles were tightly coiled, ready to sprint for the exit. Predators could smell fear and he’d seen enough of the Discovery channel to know never to run away from one. That only tempted the kill. “That’ll cost you.”

“I know.” He tried to keep his voice calm, attempted to act like he was just talking to a neighbour or acquaintance from work, but he was shit scared and both of them knew it. The kid did the unnerving head tilt again, and he shivered, not liking the way it was eying him up like a particularly interesting slab of meat that was ready to serve up.

He shuddered under another flick of the tongue. An amber eye blinked out of time with its mocha partner in a lopsided wink. “What’s in it for me?”

“Well, it’s a soul right?” He swiped a hand across his sweating brow. “That’s what everything says. You make a deal with a demon and the demon takes your soul.” At least he hoped it worked that way, because it was pretty much the only thing Travis could bring to the table. He scrounged leftovers and put up with living two places down from a crazy cat lady in an area of the city that basically translated to slums for a reason – he wasn’t just dirt poor, he was flat out  _broke_.

“Hum, a soul.” It echoed, tapping a finger to its chin and pausing as if lost in thought. A beat passed, then the demon’s face split eerily wide as it smiled. “I find these terms agreeable. Very well then.” It stretched a hand, the limb unfurling elegantly to waft beneath his front. A caramel eye batted a playful wink. “Care to shake?”

Travis eyed the hand. It stilled in its motions, fingers fluttering invitingly. “Do come closer.” The demon coaxed gently. “I don’t bite. Much.” It grinned, showing off a set of sharpened pearly whites that would give Dracula fang envy.

He gulped, stepping forward and slipped his own hand into the kid’s. A bolt of electricity sparked between the two, a sombre silence following for a short pause, before he screeched, wrenching away as sea blue fires sprung into existence and wrapped his hand. He yowled, angrily nursing his fingers to his chest and fixing the visitor with a look of deepened hurt and betrayal.

The demon ignored his expression. “Well what were you expecting, confetti?” It giggled, flipping a hand to a wave. “Pleasure doing business honey.”

And then it was gone and the world had decided it wasn’t some old time black and white television set after all. Yeah okay, that happened. He blinked, turning his palms up for burn marks before running a hand through his bangs, muttering “Shower, yeah, shower.” Beneath his breath and stumbled off, but not before pulling a battered packet of microwavable lasagne out of his half empty fridge and jamming it into the mid-breaking metal box beside, scrubbing his face and blearily keying in time numbers. 

 

* * *

 

He glared at the demon through sliding lashes, determinedly fighting the pull of unconsciousness.

“You ba….stard.” He wheezed, the rope lashed to his neck scraping his throat, the effort prompting it to tighten, further robbing remnants of oxygen. The last of his breath rattled in his emptying lungs, his face flaming as it flared an angry purple. His feet dangled uselessly in their air as they desperately searched for ground.

“Language.” The demon tsked. “Now that’s just bad manners.” It swung one hand to a hip and waggled the other at its front in admonishment, shaking its head sadly. “Is this about the dead girl thing? Why do I have a feeling this is about the dead girl thing?”

“Y…ou kne…w.” He croaked out, the words a dying rasp as he forced them through the protesting leash of twine, the solid bulging with each heaved slip of tongue. “D…id this…on…pur…po..s..e…”

It shrugged, nonchalant. “You should have been more specific. Not my fault you never stated I had to bring her back with a pulse.” Behind it the face of the thing posing as his fiancé twisted into a greasy leer, grinning stubs of teeth blackened by sticky char dribbling down her chin, the skin beneath a sickened grey stained by dirt, as if having just been dug from the earth.

The pretender was sat on the edge wing of his settee, perched to a feral crouch, ratted ends of dirtied blonde wisps sticking to the sides of insect black glassed eyes.

“Business is business kiddo. I don’t make the game, I just play to win. We had a deal, I’m just here to pay my side and collect my dues. Speaking of…” it paused, pushing its tongue from its lips and screwing its eyes in exaggerated concentration. “Ta-daa! Got you a little something. Guy panicked like a headless bird when he saw me. Now he’s just headless.” The demon bragged, lifting an object in its hands and-

Oh god yes, that really was a severed head it was placing proudly on his kitchen table.

Bile drowned the insides of his mouth at the sight and he was fairly sure if there wasn’t a noose binding his throat he would have been doubled over and spilling the contents of all food he’d eaten over the past week to his carpet. He blanched, realising through his nausea that the monster hadn’t  _stopped._

“…I do hope you’re impressed, I did go out of my way to make it simply excruciating.” It continued, as if proudly boasting a list of achievement to an expectant parent. “You know not everyone follows through; most would make it a quick job, simple stabbing, pretty much painless. A second of agony and then poof, you’re dead." It trilled scornfully. "It’s only us professionals who really take the time to do it right. Limb by limb dismemberment is such an effort but always well worth the trouble.”

Travis glared murder through the fogging haze of black creeping across his sight.

“Oh don’t be so hung up about it,” It smirked, words dripping smugness. It stepped forward and gave the rope a playful push, sending him unwillingly spinning a slow 360. “You knew it was always going to happen, I’m a _demon_ kiddo, trickery’s in the DNA.” It scoffed. “Unless you really can be that dumb.”

It moved, hips a light swagger to them, pulling a chair from the table and dragging it over. It mounted it, pressing its chin into the crest of the back rung, childishly kicking its heels like an excited toddler and watched expectantly.

Travis hacked a snarl, his hands hung limply at his sides, their ends twitching jerkily as stammered gasps wrecked his form. He panted, struggling as reality slipped, panic welling as his body searched for air and found none. His mouth flopped open, tongue rolling out to push poorly at the sides of his lips.

The rope constricted totally, dragging him into a muck of unawareness, black entirely seeping through his sight. His body jerked up in the rope like a dying fish floundering on a strung up line. The last snapshot of the world was the demon sitting on the chair and– was that a box of goddam popcorn in its talons? Smirking gums and shark teeth distorted to a muggy blur. A maniacal crazed cackle echoed through his cotton-fuzzed ears as everything faded to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dipper makes one hell of a sadistic demon (pun happily intended). Bill would be proud. I like to imagine that Bill really had modernised his business, after all, not everyone has access to a series of journals listing every impossible thing in existence. 
> 
> So we're close to hitting 8k views and I'm only just realising now that in roughly 3 months I've poured out 37 chapters, jeez no wonder my fingers feel like they got run over by a truck and then set alight. But in all seriousness, thank you so much, for being your supportive, beautiful selves. It may sound like nothing coming from a stranger on a screen, but it really does mean a lot.
> 
> Next chapter sees a delightful family reunion, which may or may not go disastrously, terribly wrong. Well all right, of course it will go badly, this is after all, angst central.  
> See you all Saturday  
> ~MUI


	38. Not So Happy Families

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family reunions don't always go well. Especially when the one reuniting is a crazed psychopathic demon.

Mabel grunted awake to a dulled ringing. Fingers stretched to kill the alarm out of instinct; confusion filtering when all that was found was the clink of flesh on cooled glass – from the lightened lilt of song and ease in which the bottle nearly toppled – freshly emptied. The stretch brought her further than expected, her body very nearly losing the precious balance found propped halfway off the chair and halfway face planted to the table. 

It was an awkward position that left her with a crick in her neck and a mouth full of desk that she would never have chosen in her right mind, but apparently her drunken self had had no such qualms passing out in such a stance. She figured it was an achievement in itself that she’d even managed to manoeuvre herself into it in the state she’d arrived at last night.

It was pretty telling that she couldn’t remember much; sneaking down the stairs past two arguing Grunkles and leaving the Shack was clear as day, but things started to fog between arriving and leaving the bar, and anything past struggling into the Dusk 2 Dawn drew a complete blank. What she did know, however, was that her mouth tasted disgustingly like asphalt and the ring drilling through her ears wasn’t the death knell of an alarm clock but rather a pounding in her head as someone hacked away at the back of her skull with a battle-axe. Swallowing had a fresh wave of nausea clawing its way up her throat and blinking her eyes open had the entire world swimming to an unsteady focus.

She felt absolutely awful. As hangovers went, this was one of her worst.

She groaned, blearily rolling off the table and pulling herself to her feet, swaying for a moment until the world had decided to stop spinning, before tottering over to a grimy sink nestled in the lab’s corner. A brief rummage in the cupboards beside the taps and she was clutching a dusty cracked tumbler and battered packet of painkillers.

She ran the nearest tap, thrusting the tumbler beneath the slow cascade, allowing it to totally fill and ride over her fingers before tipping it down and empty, so as to clear the thick layer of dust and cobwebs clinging onto the sides and restarting the process.  With her other hand she popped two pills from the silvered sachet and plunged them into her mouth, the water quickly following to a grateful mewled sigh. 

A low grumble in her stomach had a hand pressing to her side and the realisation that it was probably way past any time for a meal appropriate to be called breakfast. The understanding provoked a return to the cupboards and soon she was polishing off the last of her findings; tin can tipped clumsily to her lips dribbling a thin line of pear juice as it left her mouth to be discarded into the sink beside the fallen tumbler.

She ran a finger over the mess, greedily pushing the sodden digit into her mouth and pulling the liquid to its tip off to a violent smack of lips. Hunger and thirst adequately sated, she fell with new vigour to her regular activity, pulling drawers and plucking wax sticks, removing eight from the plethora stacked into the square’s sides.

She gagged as she stooped, painkillers still not properly kicked in, tossing the rundown stumps of yesterday’s offerings aside for their replacements. She swapped each of the eight, lining each of them in a perfect circle, despair welling at the ease the action came in, realising with a choked sob that she no longer needed the chalk outline to guide the shape, the scribbled line long faded away into obscurity.

She was numb as she lit each of the candles, the flickered lighter dead in her fingers as she prepared for another failure. She wasn’t exactly sure how the summoning worked, but the hope that some part of Bill would feel it admittedly had her pushing attempts at ungodly hours. Keeping the bastard up till 4am was hardly fitting revenge for kidnapping her brother (and the whole claw your eye out as a distraction thing) but there was little else to do when the monster wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t even appear to her, and it did at least minutely satisfy the part of her baying blood that demanded she execute a swift but torturous dismemberment of the ass when he was finally found. 

The frame was still in the circle’s middle, the image painfully accurate in Dipper’s features, chocolate locks so vibrant, puffed cheeks and blushed lips so clear, so real, as if she could just reach a hand in through the pane and fish the boy out.

Everything was perfect, all except for the eyes, the glass doe rounds slashed out in a sickly beetle black marker. The snapshot was one of the rarities where the teen was happily smiling – carefree and innocent and _alive_ as he smashed his face into a younger grinning Mabel. 

She gave the picture a mournful gaze, setting the last of the candles to position, dusting her hands on her hips when finished. “ _Triangulum, entangulum. Meteforis dominus ventium. Meteforis venetisarium."_ She dully muttered to a flat tone.

A moment passed to bated breath, then another and another, spent to scrunched eyes and unspoken pleas. A counted minute of silence saw no change. The brief flicker of hope faded back into numbed acceptance.

And then suddenly her mouth was being forced open and words thrown from off her tongue as if someone had reached in and yanked them out-

  ** _“Sdrawkcab egassem! Sdrawkcab egassem! Sdrawkcab egassem! Sdrawkcab egassem! Sdrawkcab egassem!”_**

Mabel yelped, her voice hers once more, her jaw falling open as she spluttered, momentarily forgetting how to breathe as colour oozed out of the world. She could already hear Paz’s severe tones comparing her to a startled puppy. She hadn’t even been expecting an answer. Bill had made it pretty clear any visits would be unseen and through nightmares only.

The summoning had worked, that itself prompted a dazed stupor, but it wasn’t that which coaxed the strangled gurgle from her lips or drove her to her knees as her legs forgot how to work. Because Bill Cipher was not standing in the wheel. No, standing in the middle of the circle, looking very impatient and very pissed off, and very much alive, was her _brother_. Dipper was alive.

It was unmistakeably him; and yet at the same time it was not. The man facing her, his head cocked unnaturally to the side in an extremely unsettling manor as he studied her with unveiled curiosity, was both Mason ‘Dipper’ Pines, and a total stranger.

The triangle Bill had carved across his stomach was on full display beneath a see-through crisp white shirt, but the insides of the shape now contained a painted eye, the addition equally as scarlet in its searing of his flesh. The sleeves of the shirt were casually rolled up in Dipper style, but the loss of textile revealed a multitude of elegantly swirled runes and triangles running his arms to join the triangle brand on his right shoulder, the shown biceps curved to powerful lines.

Bill’s fashion sense was obviously infectious; a black tailcoat was buttoned over the shirt, though it’s front ended well before it reached the slab of toned midriff, and its back split down in two sharp tails that fell against the backs of knees dripped in black slacks.

A coal black top hat floated lazily at an angle over his head, but in place of a bow tie, a dog collar of a choker nestled against the nape of his neck, blued tan leather and studded with a triangle at the front.

A fingerless black glove swathed his right hand, the outline of a single gold triangle resting on the crest of his knuckles. The slouch was gone and he was leaning on a liquorice cane that like the top hat, looked sickeningly to be an exact replica of Bill’s own prop.

His lips, which before had been stuck in an almost constant, puppy-like pout, had hardened to a parody of their former, morphed into a mirror of Cipher’s signature arrogant smirk. She flinched as he caught her watching and playfully gnashed his teeth in her direction, pushing gums to reveal elongated canines that had sharpened into feral points. The observation brought with it a heady intake of breath as realisation dawned. Bill had demonified her brother.

Dipper purred, dropping to give a jaunty bow as an arm rose gracefully, fingers dipped to the brim of his hat, lifting it momentarily, and Mabel and the world was lifted with it. She screeched, chugging breath as her feet rediscovered the floor when the hand fell away and the hat retook its original bobbing position.

One eye that smugly held her gaze was the familiar russet brown, yet the other – the other that had been reduced to a charred crater of blood and pitch the last time she had seen it – was now a harsh golden caramel. It hurt to stare at, like looking at the sun for too long. Both pupils were no longer rounds but catlike vertical slits stretched thin.

The points of his birthmark blazed as if alive, and she gasped, realising that they were; aqua-blue miniature bonfires that pulsed and crackled in a twisted livewire version of join the dots, leaving them visible even when hidden beneath the pulled tawny curls.

“Well?” Dipper growled. _Growled_. He glared pointedly at her, waiting for an answer. An answer Mabel found herself unable to give. Her mind battled to make sense of the barrage of questions that suddenly flooded into her brain, causing her to stutter and emit a series of squeaks that more resembled a drunk dolphin than intelligent conversation; a combination of the how’s, what’s, where’s and why’s begging to be freed.

Dipper regarded her angrily. “Last time I take Bill’s calls,” he ground out, snarling as he smashed his foot against the stone impatiently. “Well, what’s it going to be girl? Wealth, power? A boyfriend?” He laughed, the sound echoing, jarringly harsh in her ears. She tried to ignore his condescending tone. Panic welled, pulling away at sense and throwing her into a fit of uncontrolled shivers.

“What has Bill done to you?” she spoke softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. He snapped back as if shot, confusion, followed by rage, twisting his features, the expression of fury drawing new lines through his face in replacement of the previous obnoxious smirk.

“Whoa kid, base rule, no touching.” Dipper snarled, the lines of his birthmark flashing a bloody scarlet. Apparently Bill’s short temper had been just as infectious as his habit of overdressing.

“Kid?” she echoed hollowly. She paused, blurrily watching him through gathering tears. “It’s me, Mabel.” Her voice dropped to a raspy whisper as she fixed him with pleading eyes. “Dipper, don’t you recognise me?”

He turned to look at her, properly look at her for the first time since he’d appeared, not as some girl who’d tried to summon Bill Cipher, but as Mabel Pines. Sister of Dipper Pines. And for a moment she thought she’d gotten through.

“Ma-bel?” He stuttered, recognition flashing to soften the hardened gaze. He moaned, body stumbling forward, an arm rising to his chest as if to reach out and stroke her cheek.

And then everything went to shit.

A look passed across Dipper’s face, not confusion, not arrogance. But pain. And then he screamed.

She’d heard Dipper’s screams before. She’d held his hand as he screamed when he’d first fallen off his bike and skimmed his knee open on the edge of curb. She’d pulled him close and scrawled sloppy circles on his back as he screamed into her shoulder after the nightmare that had flung him onto her bed. She’d watched him scream, _dying_ , after Ford blew half his face off.

This was worse. This was so much worse.

The cane clattered to the ground, forgotten, as he raised his hands and pushed them against his ears, mouth thrown in bestial, insane howls. His eyes locked to the floor, pushed wide open but seeing nothing. His body convulsed in on itself and Mabel watched, horrified, as his hands morphed into claws, tearing into his face, painting cream crimson and ripping strips through the flesh as if it were tissue paper.

It was wrong, all _wrong_. This wasn’t supposed to be how she got her brother back. They were supposed to run to each other’s arms and sibling hug, she was going to apologise for being such a bitch and he would tell her that all this time he’d been being controlled and then they’d band together and beat Bill…

Dipper shouldn’t not know her. Dipper shouldn’t be on the floor. Shouldn’t be dropped to the ground like a puppet whose strings had just been cut. Shouldn’t be howling and wailing and screeching, shouldn’t with each passing second be sounding more and more like a possessed banshee.

A thinned line of black oil slick had started to stream out of the corner of one of his nostrils, but he either didn’t realise or didn’t care. The lines of the constellation had turned a sickening inky pitch. His entire body began to flicker like static, flashing between two forms; sometimes humanoid, sometimes _not,_ as if someone was furiously switching between two channels of a television set.

She moved as if to rush him, but two steps forward had the circle glowering a deep scarlet. She halted struck dead as the atmosphere stiffened to weighted lead to herald the arrival of a second inhabitant to the circle.

“ **What. The. Fuck. Did. You. Do?** ”

The humanoid form of Bill Cipher materialised in the middle of the ring, pulled to his full height and looking seriously _pissed_. The circle hummed dangerously as it tried to control the waves of power rippling off the enraged demon that were slamming violently against the protective runes.

If Mabel had seen Bill murderous before, this was Bill _genocidal_. The mouth was set in a hardened line that ran above a tightly clenched jaw, harsh puffs of held growls rumbling at the back of his throat. Both eyes were heavy reds that promised painful death. She tore her gaze away from the newcomer and back to her brother who had now fallen into uncontrollable tremors.

“Dipper…” she moaned softly, wincing as the hands pressed into his face tightened and the howls ripped from his sputtering purpled lips increased in volume.

“ **Shut the fuck up**.” Bill hissed, dropping to cover Dipper’s body with his own, as if he was shielding him from her. “Sh, Pine Tree, Sh, I’m here. Bill’s here.” He soothed, repeating the phrase like a mantra, grunting with the effort of trying to calm the struggling boy.

He worked like that for a minute before seeming to give into despair, waving a hand over Dipper’s face, tightly coiled form slumping, watching with a saddened glare as the boy’s eyes shuttered and he stilled completely.

“This isn’t over!” Mabel screeched. “I didn’t do all this to get my brother back for a few seconds before you steal him again!” she rushed towards the circle but was hit by a wave of energy that knocked her backwards, helpless as her body careened into the desk, world exploding to burst agony, spots dancing across the scene as the back of her head connected with the blunt edge of the wood.

Bill had picked Dipper up, and was now holding him in his arms the same way he had held him over a year ago. A year ago when he had ordered her to claw her eye out, a year ago before he had disappeared through the Shack’s back door and never returned. She choked a sob, forcing her body to crawl forwards through the pain as she dragged herself over, desperately pulling limp limbs into an uneasy control.

“Yes, Shooting Star,” Bill turned to glare at her, centuries of rage and agonies, of civilisations built and burned, poured into that one look that pierced through her, reminding her in the face of such power she was **nothing**. A traitorous shiver spanned her spine as she unwillingly cowered. “This is.” 

The circle furiously pulsed as Bill’s entire body flared. Another crackle of energy forced Mabel’s eyes closed. When she opened them again the world had returned to colour and her brother and the dream demon who had once again stolen him from her, were gone.

The Stans found her hours later, collapsed on the ground, shivering next to a painfully familiar summoning wheel. Stanley picked the sobbing girl up and held her to his chest, patting her on the back awkwardly and glaring behind the head nestled into his shoulder at Ford who promptly snapped his opened mouth back into the thinned line.

“He didn’t recognise me,” the girl whispered between stammered hiccups. “ _He didn’t know who I was_.” She stuttered, a look of horror falling over her face before turning totally limp and passing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Dipper's an amnesiac demon, Bill's seriously pissed but falling to fleshy feelings and Mabel's a high level alcoholic. You can't say I don't treat these characters right (I really do love them I swear, I just show that love by fucking their lives in every possible way). 
> 
> But now here comes the sad part - I'm going to have to cut updates down (dodges thrown knives) Whoa, careful there, someone could get hurt. And trust me, I appreciate mutilation as much as the next person, but I'm not as enthused about it when that mutilatee is me.
> 
> There's a couple of reasons for this change, one major one being I'm moving, and it's going to take a while to get settled in and adapt to the change. Another big one is that my schedule is getting crazy full, and that means I can't stay up till 6am spewing words from fingers as I've been doing before. I know, I'm going to have to actually sleep at (yuck) normal hours. 
> 
> Now don't worry, you'll still get your updates, I'm just (ducks to avoid chainsaw aimed at head) not exactly sure when they'll be. I'm going to experiment with the times to test which will work before I properly settle on a new structure, but at the moment it's probably going to be Wednesdays and Sundays. 
> 
> Hopefully that'll work, but it may switch to only once a week (retreats into bed covers) which sucks, I know, and trust me, if I could spend all day every day typing this thing out, I would. I really would. But rent has to be paid and jelly beans don't buy themselves, so my hand is forced.
> 
> Hopefully I'll be able to pump a chapter out by Tuesday, but at the moment focus is on the move so no solid promises.  
> Until next time  
> ~MUI


	39. Little Dipper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daw, aren’t they so cute togeth- HOLY SHIT MUI’S ALIVE!
> 
> I never knew a week could be quite so stressful. You know when you’re trying to compile every single year of your existence into less than a hundred boxes, and you can’t find (insert important document A) so you have to go through every single one of those sixty you’ve already tetrised away in case you’ve already packed (insert important document A) and then it happens again with (insert important document B)? 
> 
> That has been my life for the past eight days.
> 
> I’m not good at packing. I’m one of those people who’s like what’s that, we’re going on holiday for two weeks and I should make sure I’ve got enough socks? Pfft, I’ll check the morning we catch the plane. And then ends up the second week in Spain forcing their feet into tiny sandals two sizes too small because they ran out of socks on day eight of fourteen.
> 
> So basically I’m a disorganised klutz who’s been running the entire of the last week off coffee fumes and unearthed sugar. The last couple of days have seen 3am scavenges through kitchen cupboards with entire packets of forty crackers guzzled to one go. Admittedly not some of my finest moments. 
> 
> But well, I’m alive. Barely, but still staggering on. And everything was going great. The chapter was written, then re-written because my mind is a total bitch of a perfectionist and ever so kindly points out every possible error or way something could be better whenever I do read-overs of my own stuff. Everything was done. Until my USB decided to catch one better than a cold and got one big old nasty virus. And yeah, I lost everything because even though I have 3 of them I’d only saved the next couple of chapters on the one. 
> 
> It was painful. Incredibly so, and I came extremely close to taking a wood axe to the thing. Again, not some of my finest moments. And with the move and life deciding to suddenly kick up gears, until now I just couldn’t bear to sit down and rip that band aid off. 
> 
> That and I’ve been exhausted mentally. 
> 
> Because my laptop and my sanity have recently come into a certain clash. My laptop whispers ideas to write about and my sanity very clearly says oh no I shouldn’t. But then I never listened to that anyway. Which is probably why I spewed 7k words of pure jaydick angst out two days ago. Eheh oopsies?
> 
> But here’s your chapter *throws at face* massive apologies for the delay, imsosorrypleasedontkillme and lets all just ignore the clock in my corner that definitely does NOT read 5.35am.  
> ~MUI

Bill was furious. He was beyond furious. He was ever so slowly, oh ever so excruciatingly planning out the extremely painful execution of Mabel Pines. Though try as he might he couldn’t succeed in entirely shifting blame. After all, he’d left Dipper. He’d asked the kid to cover his calls. He’d assumed Stars would stick to her annoying habit of 3am summons. The howling mess in his arms was his fault. Safe to say, he’d fucked up. Royally fucked up.

Somehow he managed to restrain himself from obliterating everything within a hundred mile radius. It would be a shame, after all, to destroy the bed. It was a very good bed, very durable, for lack of a better reason, and he would be incredibly sorry to see it go. The curtains, on the other hand, nasty monstrosities of obnoxious magenta that would scare any decent designer far better than any nightmare he could ever cook up, could use a certain extra flare…

Sadly, the door smashed open before Bill could start his own version of Home Makeovers, the well-rounded form of the bubbly succubus Pyronica hurtling through the space, rushing a beeline to crowd the kid cradled to his chest. She had no doubt heard the wailed screeches ripped from Dipper’s mouth, as with the rest of the crappy pocket dimension Bill’s happy little family so lovingly called home. Home, Limbo, The Eternal Void of Boringness, and his personal favourite, the ever popular Shit Stain Waste of Space for the Majorly Fucked.

He locked eyes with her, not at all surprised to see the female close to a sudden break down herself. Since his first introduction to the group, Dipper had gotten on with all the Henchmaniacs like a house on fire with its residents locked inside, but he was closer than most of the group to her. He briefly wondered whether there was still a residue of incubus influence affecting him, which would certainly explain his closeness to the demoness and his level of lust in the bedroom department. Dipper loved sin and sex. A lot. Even for a demon. The levels of his sadism still sometimes surprised the depraved minds gathered, even Bill’s. Though watching the kid take an active interest in the consumption of human flesh and personal dabblings to deal screw-ups had been more than a pleasant experience. The boy was a natural.

“Fuck, PT! What did they do to him?!” The succubus screeched, her usual jovial manner replaced by a rare frame of genuine concern. Like most of Bill’s gang, Py was balls to the wall bonkers and an absolute hoot to have around. She enjoyed two things in life; sex and destruction. More often than not a combination of the two, given that succubi had a particularly nasty reputation for sucking the souls out of those they slept with. He knew she was close to the boy too, like most of the Maniacs seeing him as a sort of adopted brother to take under the wing and push in the right direction.

“Shooting Star.” Bill spat vehemently.

“Shit.” Py murmured, shaking her head sadly. Bill nodded his agreement. She had perfectly summed up the situation. Shit indeed.

He decided then and there, staring mournfully down to his lover’s agonized face pulled taut to twisted lines shaped by bestial roars and snaked writhes, that he was going to kill the girl. And he’d damn well make sure it was the most painful execution in the history of painful executions. He was going to drive a knife through her socket and skewer the pupil out, slowly, agonizingly, to make a perfect pair, before drawing the blade to her gut and stringing insides to outsides that he would place to her throat like a plucked feather boa. He would peel flesh from snapped bone in jerking thin strips, snipping tendons and sinew free until she nearly passed out. Then he was going to drive the blade through her neck and leave her nailed to the Shack door to bleed out. But first he was going to kill the disgusting slab of bacon she kept as a pet and leave its severed head at the foot of her bed to find. That should knock the stars out of her smile.

“Poor kid.” Py cooed her sympathy. Dipper howled a confirmation, choosing the moment to loose a particularly wrenched-through-a-wood-chipper shriek.

“Just help me hold him down.” Bill grunted, snapping his head to the left to avoid a sloppily flailed kick from planting a foot through his nose. “I’m going to have to pull his consciousness into the Mindscape.”

Py nodded, stepping in when Bill had placed Dipper to the bed’s surface. She ducked to avoid a swung hook, then pounced, hands snapping to catch wrists, grunting in effort as she wrestled them down, pinning the wriggling boy’s arms tightly in place above his head.

Bill closed his eyes, forcing his concentration away from the howling mass of limbs. He felt the pull of Dipper’s mind, following the presence, easing in gently, so as not to alarm the boy….

…only to be slammed straight out with the force of a speeding freight train succeeded by a herd of stray drunken elephants perched precariously atop a chain of swung demolition balls.

He screamed, eyes flown open, stumbling from the boy as hands pressed frantically to his now thinly smoking garments.  

“M-m-mabel?” Dipper stammered, sitting up though still jerking the odd twitch. He stuttered, his eyes pulled back to warmed coco, blown wide with childish innocence. He blinked the rounds dolefully, his thumb pushing through pink lips to a fearful suckle.

“Is that supposed to happen?” Py inquired doubtfully, her gaze restlessly flicking from the demon with its legs splayed in front of its lap to a childish seat on the edge of the bed, to the demon impaling its feet in frenzied stabs to the carpet, shoulders drawn taut and looking close to totally losing it.

Bill swore blatantly.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“GET OUT!” Bill roared, swiping his hands to a fumed dismissal. The curtains to his back exploded into a ruptured inferno, heavily tailed drapes soon ragged charred strips eaten by hungry flame. Py wisely fled the room, her back hurriedly receding to disappear down the corridor, fading steps echoed to the thinned mutters of  _“…come back when you’ve stopped throwing a hissy.”_ Though he knew the fierce indignation was placed to veil her concern. The female didn't like to show it but she was almost as worried about Dipper’s condition as he was.

With her gone, Bill turned his attention to the boy who had hurtled from their perch the instant he’d raised his voice, and was now currently attempting to push his frame as far as it could go into the wall. Bright eyes pushed wide to startled terror as they flitted each corner, briefly staring through Bill before moving on to the next space without recognition.

“M-mabel?” The corners of the boy’s lips twisted as he stuttered. “Mabel, I don’t like this game.”

His head swung madly back and forth, words keened to a slight hopeful edge, as if expecting a twin to crash through the one of the windows, grappling hook in hand, at any moment. He whimpered, retreating into himself. “Mabel.” The name was a hushed reverent whisper. “Mabel, I don’t want to play anymore.”

Dipper looked lost. He looked young. Vulnerable. Bill recognized it easily. Sadly he was even used to it. From time to time Dipper’s consciousness would find a situation too painful to even begin to grasp and override. As a sort of failsafe, it resorted to factory setting, pushing the kid’s consciousness back to just that. A kid’s. A Dipper from a different time. A time before he was twelve. A time before Gravity Falls, when life was simple and the worst monster to run from was the neighbour’s nasty kid next door.

A time before he’d met Bill.

When he worked out that no sister was coming crashing to his rescue, the boy locked his mouth firmly shut, his head fixed to the ground, only daring to dart stolen glances to the edges of Bill’s feet.

He had thought Dipper nervous when twelve. Dipper at eight turned out to be a hypersensitive bunny with electrodes jammed to its scalp and frying 650 MAs through its brain to force a frightened meter high leap every five seconds. He clucked his tongue, gritted his teeth, and tried for a nonthreatening tone. “You can talk to me, you know.” A wide grin flashed razor fangs. “I’m not going to eat you.”

Dipper grunted. “Can’t.” Fingers awkwardly rubbed the back of one elbow. “I’m not allowed to talk to strangers.” He gave a low whine of distress, whispering raggedly. “Mother says they’ll think I’m weird and call an ambulance to take me off and lock me away.”

Bill’s lip twisted in sour distaste as he frowned. That didn’t sound like the usual sort of inefficient discipline the self-entitled dumb fleshies subjected their offspring to. “Well, you’re talking to me now, aren’t you?” He reasoned happily, tone sickeningly chipper as he grinned triumphantly.

Dipper thoughtfully scratched the back of his head. His blown doe eyes blinked away stretched butterfly lashes, massive circles somehow widening further. “Well, I suppose so.” His lips chased to a brief smile. “And Mabel does say strangers are just friends you haven’t met.” He trailed off; pink lines pulling back to their previous fretful pout as he again looked expectantly out to the window. “Uh, where is Mabel?”

“Not here.” Bill growled flatly.

“Oh.” Dipper shifted on his feet, scuffing a foot nervously across the fuzzed carpet. “H-hey m-mister.” Dipper raised his head furtively, quivering as he watched Bill through lashes drooped to crystalline drop baubles. “W-where am I?”

“Safe.” Bill murmured. “You’re safe.”

Dipper’s head sprung down then up in a lightening bob, as if those two words had explained everything. He keened, frightened, but allowed the demon to come closer. It was only when Bill reached his hands in offered embrace that the kid finally moved, bolting it forward to dive through the opened legs placed before him.

It was a move that would have worked and seen a nifty escape to an eight year old Dipper, but though the mind had regressed the body had not, and so it ended in the adult version rigidly stuck. Bill dragged him easily out, ignoring the flails and scratches that scrabbled nails laid to any surface near as he hoisted the boy into his arms. Flesh and fabrics were sacrificial, easily replaced with little to no effort, and he was not about to let a younger Dipper wander free to find the more… mature decorations boasted to the place’s walls. Nor was he prepared to share a totally adorably clueless Pine Tree.

Had Dipper been in his right mind it probably would have been a hard won victory, but luckily stamina and strength seemed to have transferred as well; magic was entirely forgotten, and soon the kid was entirely tired out, panting his resignation. “You can’t kidnap me, it’s a federal offence.” He whimpered in defeat, weakly throwing clumsy fists to Bill’s back. “You’ll go to jail.” He added after a pause in smug explanation.

“Federal offence?” Bill rolled the words off in a playful echo. His lips split to a bemused grin. “Not much of a kid, are you?”

Dipper growled and pushed out his tongue. “I’m not a kid, I’m  _eight_ ,” He announced, puffing his chest out proudly.

Bill chuckled. He wouldn't ever mention it to the man in favour of saving his wardrobe from a nasty case of explosions, but this Dipper was _adorable_.

“Okay mister Grown Up,” Dipper preened, pulling his height up at the title. Bill leaned his head, solemnly locking their gazes. “Tell me how does an eight year old know such serious words as federal offences?”

“Really?” Dipper's face twisted to excitement, the poor kid so starved for attention that he seemed to forget he was talking to the same person as the ‘kidnapper’ he had so vehemently fought tooth and nail only moments before. He bounced, now happily, in the embrace, face surged to new animation. “You really want to know?”

“Oh you betcha.” Bill purred, coaxing simper dripping sweetened honey.

Dipper beamed, expression thrown to a wild grin. “Well I read about it in this huge book in father’s study. It had a lot of terms, like federal offences and aiding and abetting and false imprisonment.” He prattled excitedly, before gasping, hands pushing to clap over his mouth, suddenly stricken.

“Oh, but he wasn’t supposed to know about that.” Dipper wailed anxiously. His face fell; colour bleached a sickened grey, his terror returning as he hoarsely pleaded. “Please don’t tell him!”

“No worries bucko,” Bill sliced a finger across his lips. “My mouth’s zipped. It’ll be our little secret.”

Dipper relaxed, relief painting his features as he sagged back against Bill’s body. “Thank you,” he whispered through an adorably mewled yawn.

“Come on kiddo,” Bill tussled his hair affectionately. “Let’s get you rested up. To bed we go.”

“I don’t need sleep!” Dipper protested angrily. Bill tried not to laugh. Already a cute little insomniac at age eight. Dipper’s curls bounced from their combed post as he adamantly shook his head. “And I don’t listen to strangers.” His brow furrowed, knitting together to a sombre frown as his tone turned serious. “Especially ones who are trying to kidnap me.”

“I’m not a stranger!” Bill swooned and clutched his heart, feigning a gasp of hurt. “I’m Bill.”

"What sort of name is Bill?!" Dipper questioned scathingly. He snorted in disbelief, before his voice trailed off to a sulky mumble. “It isn’t a very kidnappy name.” 

“No it’s not.” Bill cheerfully agreed. “Because it’s a wonderful name and I’m not a kidnapper.” He mirrored Dipper’s earlier action, teasingly poking his tongue out. He waggled his brow suggestively, grinning. “Although for you I would happily make an exception.”

Dipper snickered. “Mabel would punch you for that.”

Bill batted two eyes out of time to playful winks, answering with a happy chirp of “Mabel’s not here.”

Dipper sighed unhappily, his form suddenly deflating. “No, she’s not.” He hung his head miserably, suddenly dejected.

Bill echoed his own saddened huff. “Listen kid, you’re safe here. I’m not going to hurt you. And I really do mean that.” He stressed. He ran a hand uncertainly through his bangs. “Look, you’re tired and it’s late, so if you go to sleep like a good kid, maybe we can go find your sister in the morning.”

Dipper immediately perked. He mewled his agreement, arms wrapping to Bill’s neck and lifting his body deeper into the demon’s embrace, nuzzling sleepily into the side of tanned cheek.

“Upsy daisy.” Bill tittered, unclasping the hands curled to his throat to lay the boy gently into the covers.

“Hey Bill,” Dipper stuttered, his face flushed charred lobster as he clenched his grip on the fistful of buttered tailcoat. “You won’t go, will you?”

“Don’t worry babe,” Bill cooed, clambering the covers and pulling the youth to spoon comfortingly against his chest. He leaned his head, his breath tickling the boy’s ear, provoking a bubble of squealed giggle. "I’d never leave you.”

The boy simpered contentedly as Bill’s tongue lapped out to ghost the ring of his lobe. He stared down at the slumbering youth now relaxed totally into his grasp. His fingers tightened their grip around the boy’s waist, pulling him even closer in as he closed his eyes, whispering a final declaration to the boy’s ear. “Not for the entire universe.”


	40. Gone The Whole Hog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cute moment. And then, uh, shit goes colossally sideways. 
> 
> The author is a heartless monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh I’m a monster alright. A terrible, terrible monster.  
> Er-  
> “….Sorry Mabel(?)”

To his immense relief (and yeah okay, more than a little disappointment) Dipper awoke in full health and very much in the mind-set of a nineteen year old. Bill felt a slight twinge of mourning needle when lids slid back to one half caramel. Admittedly, he would miss younger Dipper’s endearing naivety and adorable ignorance.

“Bill.” The boy croaked, scrubbing blearily over one eye as he rolled to his side to face Bill, who had stretched out to his side of bed, propped on one elbow and leaned regally, reclining like some ancient ruler of sorts. “What happened?”

Bill smiled, reaching a hand to pet his head possessively. “Some skinsuits tried to exorcise you. They were pissed about their kid you killed.” Dipper laughed weakly at that, though it stuttered, turning into a ragged cough halfway through.

“Sounds about right.” He breathed heavily out, a thinned smile quirking the edges of his lips. “I take it I have a knight in shiny armour to thank for still breathing then.”

“Oooh the shiniest.” Bill trilled teasingly, a smug smirk tugging his lips gently over pearled razors.

Dipper flashed his own elongated canines to a wicked grin, pulling his body up into a low crawl. Lips pushed to an aloof pout as he clambered his form on top of the demon’s. He leaned forward, peppering the nose in front with ticklish light kisses.

Bill made a small noise of appreciation at the back of his throat as slow, gentle touches of care sped to become quick, violent urges of want. “Mmm Pine Tree,” He moaned in between the rain of lusted claims. “Have I ever said how much I fucking love you?”

“Every single damn day, Bill,” Dipper drizzled cynically. He drew away, sitting back on his haunches, hands pooling the space in front of his lap. “It’s like your second favourite saying, right after ‘ _off with his head’_ and _‘I’m so pissed with you I’m going to cremate your entire species’_.” His tone turned to a nasal upbeat in perfect imitation of his companion.

“Well I do.” Bill declared bluntly.  “I fucking love you.” He grinned, answering Dipper’s forwardness with his own quick peck to the boy’s forehead. “Never know what I did to deserve you kid.”

Dipper’s nose screwed up in the adorable sneezing kittenish way as he snorted disbelievingly. “Don’t play humble; it doesn’t suit you, Mister I Own Everything In The Universe by My Own Birth Right.”

“Too right I own everything.” Bill chuckled, ghosting a hand carefully across the boy’s cheek before gently patting the skin. “And that includes adorable little Pine Trees.”

“I’m not adorable.” Dipper hissed, grumbling sullenly. Darkened mutters jumped to a screeched yelp as Bill’s arms reached out, curling around the boy’s waist to drag him into an air-wrenching embrace.  

“Mmm, I beg to differ.” He murmured softly, words muffled into Dipper’s skull as he buried his nose among the mess of curls. “And so does my photo collection.”

“You have a photo collection.” Dipper echoed dryly. He arched a brow before his mouth fell open to resigned indignation. “Why am I surprised? Of course you have a photo collection.” He groaned, fingers wrenching the puff of his cheeks in exasperation.

Bill snickered, playfully poking the small of his back. His head dipped to rest on Dipper’s shoulder, puffing trickles of hot breath into the youth’s ear. “Not that you’re ever seeing it. I like my photographs unsinged.”

“And I like my boyfriends to not be creepy non-consensual photographing assholes.” Dipper muttered venomously before shrugging. “But we all can’t be so lucky.”

“Luck?” Bill scoffed, words candied to heavy disdain. “Who needs luck when you can rig the entire game?”

Dipper flipped his body, staring dolefully up with wide, eyes, blinked seductively from under a sky of demurely fluttered ink lashes. “Hey Bill,”

“Mhmm.”

“Stop talking.” Dipper leaned back in, this time capturing Bill’s mouth in his own. And hot shit, he’d been _practicing_.

His teeth nibbled gently over the plush tips, drawing away to be replaced by the tongue, the youth lapping the lines in teasing pushes, before swirling the insides of Bill’s mouth. Bill moaned, the sound guttural, as Dipper’s hands snaked up his waist, trailing to latch around his neck and pull their pair even closer. His tongue pushed the edge drop of Bill’s gullet, sinfully good as it pressed ownership.

Bill felt heat rise to his cheeks, briefly allowing his submission before he shoved his own appendage into Dipper’s defenceless cavern, reclaiming dominance as Dipper keened, the sound choked as lids fell shut to heavenly bliss. The boy arched his back as he slumped, allowing total control to be wrested away.  

 “Jeez Pine Tree.” Bill whispered when he reluctantly pulled away, breathlessly staring in awe at those ethereal blush lips as if they held the answer to life, the universe and everything in it. “I fucking love you.”

* * *

 

 

The soles of Bill’s dress shoes crunched sharply across the dead leaves littering the unkempt lawn. He screwed his nose, corners of lips pulling sharply up in distaste. The place was every much the dump as it had been – if possible more so – than when he had last had the misfortune to gaze upon it. Honestly, he desired nothing more than to set the entire hut alight, but alas, he was here for business, so the pleasure of some much needed arson would have to wait, a fanciful whim to indulge at another time.

They hadn’t set another barrier. He guessed that would be at Star’s insistence, fear of killing her brother (again) if he ever did come back rising over the terror for her own life’s extinguishment. Stanley would probably have agreed, he was, after all, a family first type of man, but no doubt that decision had made her eternally popular with old Fordsy.

He glided through the hall and up the stairs, noting with a pleased hum of satisfaction that all two-legger residents were blatantly absent from the premises. He had, after all, not come for a proper confrontation quite yet. Waiting for all to leave had been simply exhausting and downright unpleasant, but nowhere near as such as an interaction. So he’d bided his time – oh that painfully droll concept – and waited it out for all to disappear.

Nothing much had changed at all over the last year. The entire building still reeked like two year old dead skunk; the bemoaning of floorboards protesting the weight he placed remained loud enough to raise at least half the populace of the nearby cemetery and the Pines were paranoid as ever, a fact he established when nearly tripping over a stray laser blaster not so innocently littered on the ground.

He prowled the corridors, nostalgia leading to a quick peak of a ducked head pushed through the old bedroom door. He found the room was completely untouched, upturned covers and cluttered cabinets exactly as they were, frozen in reverent memorial, when they had left. However, there was little satisfaction to be gleamed from staring at an inanimate bed, even if it was a point of eternal sorrow for one of his most hated adversaries, and so he soon left the door to slip back into the thin passageway.

From there it was easy to locate the vermin stretched lazily across a strewn pile of Star’s knitted sweaters, not so easy to coax the creature close, but one simple addition of a materialised apple to the palm of his hand later soon had the walking breakfast forgetting danger and greedily following his every movement.

He cooed encouragement, wafting the fruit temptingly through the air. The beast’s eyes tracked the motion, locked on the food and entirely ignorant of the demon wielding it. Base nature trumping fear, it rose uneasily from its place, leaving nerves behind to trot forward and unashamedly snuffle, grunting out its desire for the out of reach prize.  

Bill grinned as he snatched the animal from off the floor, the thing shrieking indignant squeals of protest as he lifted it to his chest. He teased the apple in front of its muzzle, before snatching it to his lips, taking one vindictive crunch from the juicy flesh and throwing the thing out of existence. The pig vocalised its dismay at the act in the form of a lengthened, enraged howl.

He petted the rounded head briefly, nails cleaving crescent gashes through hot bristled skin. The animal whimpered, bucking against his hold, but found itself unable to move out of the arms holding it. The hog was quite stuck.

“Piggy Wig and Piggy Wee,” Bill crooned as he worked. _Schnick_ sang the knife in gleeful duet as it slipped through coarse pink hair, severing fleshy sinew down to bleached stick with ease. Marrow provided a slightly higher challenge, but a tongue pushed briefly out to concentration and a teensier harder grip of the handle and soon that was snipped through as well, the end of the first line narrated to the satisfactory _whump_ of object hitting the floorboards dead.

The animal writhed fearfully in his grip, remaining three legs whirring out as they frantically but uselessly peddled for escape. “Greedy pigs as pigs could be.” Bill continued, giggling. _Schnick_ the knife sang once again, lending chorus in enthusiastic agreement. The bacon’s squeals had risen now to near ear-splitting howls, each seemingly ripped from that deliciously quivering chest.

He ran the blade lovingly over the next leg, fingers tracing to catch over the beaded line of scarlet cloven open. “For their dinner ran pell mell.” His grip tightened to a steel trap as the line finished its round, the knife returning to its place to properly hack through.

“And in the trough both piggies fell.” Bill finished happily, the final trotter falling off the bled stump. Waddles gave one last indignant bleat, the sound cutting jarringly off mid-squeal as with a disgusted sneer, Bill speared the knife with one last vicious push into the pig’s belly. It stuck, the handle comically bobbing out of crimson smeared pork ribs like some cheesy performance act complete with ketchup fake gore gone wrong.

He lifted the corpse to the light, taking a moment to admire his handiwork. A masterpiece if he did say so himself. Though there was something missing. And it wasn’t the four severed trotters strewn in scarlet lakes at his heels. He eyed it critically, slowly turning it left to right, this way and that with one hand taped thoughtfully to his chin as if to spot just what prompted the absence.

His lips formed an abrupt exclamation.

Spurred by sudden inspiration, he took the knife and cleanly popped the inflated bubble of right eyeball. There, perfect. He dropped the hog on top of Star’s bed, dusted his hands of the disgusting creature, and made his exit, making a gleeful note to check in again whenever the brat made her return. He wondered, briefly as he slipped back through the realms, if she would like his present.

His tongue clucked out a tut, a light sneer admonishing his own ignorance. Of course she would like it. A gift from brother in law Bill? She would love it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god. It’s done. It’s over. The move is over. Now I just have to unpack about fifty bajillion boxes. Slight exaggeration, last I counted there were only twenty bajillion of em. So yeah, totally new place, totally new bed to starfish across with a totally new laptop. Huzzah. 
> 
> Best thing about the new place? There’s a Tesco two minutes walk away, open late with cheap packs of ramen and jelly beans. Instant ramen packs have been my saviour many a time in that battle between mortal and kitchen. It’s like three minutes of doing nothing and then boom, dinner be served. Of course the hob seems to hate me. Cooked seven times and came away with minor/slightly less minor burns six of those. But nothing three hours of strapped on frozen pea bags can’t fix.
> 
> I guess I’m rambling now. I think this is what happens when you’ve gone insane after moving twenty bajillion boxes of stuff. It’s around the first ten bajillion when you start thinking just maybe you’ve over packed. 
> 
> Ah well, I should probably get around to what I should have said 184 words ago. Which is thank you. Because hot damn we hit 500 kudos. And all I can do is stare dumbly at my computer screen. Because that means you guys are actually liking this. Which still surprises me. 
> 
> So this week, the jelly beans go to all you lovelies. Not literally, of course, because I don’t know where you live and if I did that would just be downright creepy and I’m already expecting a visit from the FBI as it is, since my google search history is well, not exactly, the most innocent. Considering the last searches were centred on elephant tranquilisers, Desert Eagles and how much electricity a person can take before the gloop in their brain goes terminally splat. 
> 
> Well, it’s 3.44am now. Whoops, when did that happen? Well, I guess at 3.44am. And contrary to belief, I do actually need some amount of sleep to function on at least some coherent level. So that’s me, signing off till next week, same MUI time, same MUI day. So Saturday. At 11.30. And yeah, I will get round to all those comments. Promise. 
> 
> Hugs, kisses, milk, cookies, un-drugged and offered but not in the creepy way.  
> ~MUI


	41. In Memory of a Pig

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That Piggy did eat Farmer Bland,  
> He ate him up from head to toe,  
> Chewing the pieces nice and slow.  
> It took an hour to reach the feet,  
> Because there was so much to eat,  
> ~ The Pig, by Roald Dahl

“He was a good friend.” Mabel choked, each word forced in dull croaks from her closing throat. Her shoulders held together rigidly as her legs swayed, unsteadily thrown to the indecision of standing or collapse. Above her head the sky cried, hung sorrowfully in sick shades of dismal charcoal grey, rolls of musky fog lending a brief flood of its own to pick brutally at the ravaged ground, pelts shattering the crumpled corpses of leaves strewn across the lawn.

Her body, pitifully tiny against the backdrop of towered rusty giants, trembled unsteadily. “A great friend who could never be replaced. He wasn’t just some dumb animal.” She stammered, swiping a sweater sleeve across her face to a low sniffle. “He wasn’t just some pig to be eaten and forgotten like yesterday’s candies. W-waddles,” She paused, choking on the name as her tongue tied up to the wave of despair that had threatened to overthrow all sense ever since she had returned to her room.

“Waddles was my companion, my comfort, my bestest buddy in the whole world.” She continued slowly. Her eyes blinked furiously, uselessly trying to fight off the dew tugging her lashes down and creeping inky fuzz into her vision.

“He was only with us for seven years, but those seven years will never be forgotten. Goodbye Waddles, you’re in the big pig sty in the sky now. And I’m not gonna be there to clean up after you, so remember not to eat too many socks, they’ll give you indigestion, and not all glitter is edible so stay away from the purple flakes, and stay healthy and brush your teeth and get plenty of exercise, Okay?” She sobbed, staring brokenly at the growing mound of dirt piling beside her feet, voice breaking off to a ragged gasp.

She flinched beneath the arm that hooked her shoulder, shuddering under the unexpected contact. Tear filled eyes lifted from the dirt to stare up to the haggard face of Grunkle Stan, the man’s own expression wrecked by the heavy bags wrenching his lids down and deepened frown lines scarred into the wizened skin.

“I loved him.” She whispered, moaning pitifully. “I loved him and Bill just, Bill just- Bill just took him away!” Her voice twisted to a mournful howl as she threw herself into the man’s body, gratefully burying her face into the rumpled dinner jacket.

“I know sweetie, I know.” Stan murmured, meaty paws awkwardly patting reassurance as he held her into his chest gingerly.

“First D-dipper and n-now Waddles.” She hiccupped, words descending into near incoherent muffled tremblings as she pushed her nose further into the stained noose of work tie, her hands falling listlessly at her sides. “W-why must he take everything away from me?”

Stan’s body slumped to a heavy sigh, one hand rising from the shivering back to fondly pet chocolate strokes. “Because he’s a very bad man. A very sick man who enjoys hurting others. But we’ll find him.” He promised fiercely. “Ford says he’s close and when we do-“

“No! Not Ford!” Previously flat tones jumped to loud screeches of vehement protest as Mabel cried, shooting out from her uncle’s arms as if burned. “He’ll kill Dipper! He won’t try to save him, he’ll just shoot him again!”

“Baby we’ve talked about this.” Stan smoothed, his head shaking sadly, hands held carefully out, as if attempting to calm a spooked animal. “Whatever that thing is, it’s not your brother. Not anymore.”

“No, you’re wrong!” She ranted. Sorrow threw, her face falling first to hurt betrayal then hellish fury as she glared, angrily screaming refusal. “You’re wrong!” She repeated stubbornly, voice strengthening as she steadily grew in her determinations. “It is Dipper, he knew my name, only for a moment but he  _knew_.”

“Darling,” Stan reasoned gently as he took a slow step closer to his near catatonic niece. “He’s a murderer.”

“He said my name!” She snarled angrily, stumbling feet taking her to back further away from the approaching man.

“Because you told it to him-“ 

“He’s being manipulated, Grunkle Stan!” Her eyes turned wide, pleading, desperately begging for the man to see sense and agree. “Bill got in his head but we can get him back!”

“He’s been alone with that monster for a year, kiddo and who knows what Bill did to him in that time?" The elder heaved, wrenching a hand to pull worriedly at his muzzle. "I’m sorry, but we’re not going to be able to get him back.”

Mabel flinched, crumpling back as if struck, her expression darkening to bridled fury.

“Tell Ford to fuck off," She hissed, low voice spiked venomous. "Family or not if he goes anywhere near Dipper he can expect to be scratched off the Christmas card list and a grappling hook to where the sun don’t shine.” A glower accompanied the vehement promise. “You two may have given up, but I haven’t. I’m going to stop Bill, I’m going to save this family, I’m going to save my brother, and I’ll do it alone.” She declared proudly, hands defiantly placed on her hips in standoffish manner as she glared furiously at her relative, daring the man to argue back.

Moment of confidence over, she ran. Fleeing from Waddles’ grave and her uncle who had lost faith and would rather shoot her brother on sight than try to save him. She flew through the Shack, thundering past an oblivious Ford on the stairway. She viciously flipped the man the finger before darting into the sanctuary of her bedroom, slamming the door loud enough behind her for all residents of the sleepy town to hear.

She threw furniture against the door in case either of the two men attempted appearances, building a crude barricade from chests and cases up to the handle before hurling herself onto her bed, following childish instinct and retreating into the immature comforts of covers thrown over her head.

She pressed her body deeper into the mattress, wept tears wetting the fabric against her face as she wrapped her legs to her chest, allowing sobs to fizzle the backs of her lids as she closed her eyes, sniffling and retreating to that once upon a time when a body occupied the bed next to her own, night terrors could be defeated by a simple awkward embrace and thin cotton was an impenetrable wall to the monstrosities of the world.

 

* * *

 

It took a week. A week of reading up on every book ever covered to just a mention of demon summoning, of ruthlessly searching every resource, slogging through each sleazy manual and shady website, following up on every sighting, every rumour out there of a boy with one eye sunlight caramel, one warmed chocolate, who promised the impossible end to all your problems for one simple trade.

A week of little to no sleep and barely touched slabs of glitterless toast that sat abandoned on splintered saucers dotted round the lab as she dully thudded her head off the desk to yet another dead end.

Seven days of barricaded bedrooms and sternly ignoring Stan and Ford as they attempted to talk her out of saving her brother and into killing him. But eventually she was ready, had gleamed enough information to even be able to begin an attempt. It was laughably simple. Depressingly so. Eight candles, the same incantation and Bill’s summoning circle, with the addition of a new triangle to top the first and one long overdrawn horizontal line to split both the shapes to halves.

She didn’t even need to look to know it had worked. The words had wrenched off her tongue, the world around was eerily empty of life and she could feel Dipper’s own stare boring through her, the fake charms all ready to ooze introduction from those false lips hiding their obnoxious smirk.

She took a deep breath, opening her eyes. And there he was. Dipper. Her thought dead twin. Alive. A demon. A mischievous tilt to the lips offered in an easy grin. He stood in the new costume of button up and slacks, this time without the cane, hands instead folded neatly into his chest, watching with a haughty air of cooled indifference, though mismatched rounds betrayed a flicker of cruel amusement as they swept up and down, sizing her up like some kid assessing the insect they were about to pluck the wings off of.

Her mouth fell hurriedly open before her brother had the chance to speak, rushing the words before she could rethink what she was about to do.

“I want to make a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, we're finally getting back to the good stuff. Short chapters at the moment but I can promise they'll get longer when the plot starts rolling. Or is it heads? I can never remember the difference between the two. Either way, there'll be a return to the 5k chapters when the deaths start, and yeah, that's coming real soon.
> 
> This is going back to updating on Thursdays, great news for all of you, two less days to wait for the next chapter and the continuation of this brilliant, impossible to predict what happens next cliffhanger. Ooooh I wonder what could possibly be next -  
> said no one ever. And great news for me, because it means I'm not frantically splitting concentration between writing three different things with entirely different plots and characters all at the same time on the one document which gets confusing to say the least. Plus, I really hate writing hungover. Staring at a laptop screen after one too many the night before is like throwing a brick in your own face. Extremely dumb to do and fucking painful.
> 
> And on that note I must be going, my fist and I have an appointment with the face of the bastard who invented booze that doesn't taste like booze, but fucking fruit juice. Don't drink and type kiddos.  
> See all you lovelies Thursday  
> ~MUI


	42. A Deal With the Devil, My Brainwashed, Amnesiac Brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Billdip Week y'all!

“I want to make a deal. Well, not really a deal, a bet.” She added hurriedly as Dipper’s expression went from bored interest to labcoat just handed their latest test subject. Sneered lips ticked up in a curious question as eyes played Operation with her form.

“A bet, little girl? Do tell more~” The voice purred death melodically and Mabel found herself wondering something to the lines of spiders and flies. She paused, a light frown dyeing her brow to thought. Because here was the hardest part, the thing that she had tortured herself the most over of those seven days after finding out the how of summoning. Because Dipper was Bill’s latest shiny toy and she doubted the demon would ever let his bright brand new Ferrari go without one hell of a fight. And at least one count of attempted murder.

From the events of their first reunion it was also easy to guess that the bastard had wiped all memory of his previous life from Dipper’s mind, with any attempts to force those back leading to a total mindbreak. Which brought forth the question, how do you get your brainwashed, amnesiac twin brother out of the grasp of a demonic overlord with a worryingly obsessive tree complex when you can’t even call their name without sending them into nuclear meltdown?

It had taken the best part of six days, ironing out each condition and worst of the loopholes - there would always be at least one that made it past security check and she wouldn’t even try to fool herself into thinking that the one that did would be flogged bloody till it lay down on the floor and died - because like all the Pines family she knew, if you were signing yourself over to the devil you damn well made sure to read the contract properly, but she had a plan. Half a plan. Okay two thirds. Well actually a sentence. But a third of a sentence was a third better than nothing.

“Three months.” Her chin jutted as her jaw squared. She placed hands on her hips and glowered, making at least an attempt of looking unintimidated; though she had the feeling it fooled neither of them. “I want three months.”

“Very well, I’ll bite.” Smug lips broke their formation as teeth gnashed together playfully. “Three months to do what exactly?”

“To make you regret killing.” She spoke bullishly, bluntly, hoping that he didn’t pick up on the slight tremor of the tone, the delicate shiver behind the words.

“Kill?” The ruby mouth quirked the word innocently as their speaker drew back with a dramatized gasp, eyes blowing wide to astonishment upon the accusation. “I don’t kill darling.”

She raised an eyebrow at the blatant untruth. “You and I both know that’s a lie.” Mabel growled pointedly.

A flicker of surprise unsettled the cleverly schooled features of the demon opposite, the mask rearranging into something alike to genuine emotion. “Oh?” Lips puckered. “So I’ve been caught. Well good, the act was getting awfully _dull_ anyway.” Dipper grumbled sullenly, acting like a petulant child just caught out for lying about unfinished schoolwork by their parent.

“Though I must ask, if, at the end of those three months, you _somehow_ succeed,” His mouth twisted as if it left with a bitter taste.  “What shall you gain of me?”

“Your life and loyalty.” Mabel hated the idea of forcing Dipper to enslavement a second time, but until she was totally sure he was entirely free of Bill, having the demon bound to her will was the only way she could even possibly hope to get her brother back without ending up quite, quite dead.

“Bit young to want a demon as your slave, aren’t we?” Dipper drawled condescendingly, though there was a grudging respect, the reluctant admiration of one genocidal maniac to another hidden behind the jibe.

“But bets go two ways, little one, even you must know that.” Eyes flickered with new life, the mouth taking on a wolfish grin so hungry it may as well have been salivating dew onto the tile. “What shall you wager in return?”

“My soul.” Mabel wondered hollowly if this was anything to how Dipper’s own negotiation of his entire being had gone. Had Bill acted anything alike to the demon? Sneered and drawled over the boy as a mere speck of existence as her brother held her battered, bleeding out not quite corpse to his chest?

“My life and service if I repent, your soul if you fail.” Slender half gloved fingers fell in light rhythm over his chin. “Hmm, tempting, tempting. Such a pure little thing too. Still a virgin. Not a lot of those about anymore.”

She flushed, cheeks smearing allergic lobster as her brother, _her brother_ , openly discussed her sex life - or lack thereof - as if listing a merchandise’s selling points. Very durable, brilliant reviews, still holds their V card…

“There are rules.” She added, very quickly slamming all brakes on that particular conversation as her skin receded back to healthy tan.

“Hmm, pushy little thing, isn’t it?” Dipper commented drily, a clipped arch creeping up as the slant of his lips curled to irritation.

She continued regardless of the interruption, acting as if he wasn’t openly glaring daggers as if imagining her body as a pin cushion. She hid a grimace behind false bravado, hoping that the conversation wouldn’t end with her identified as a dying porcupine.

“You can’t tell anyone of this,” _Because Bill would have a hernia, and then possibly murder everyone I ever knew in  the most terrible, horrible ways, if he ever found out what I’m trying to do._ She thought silently, choosing not to mention that not only was she all too closely acquainted with their boss, but that she was actively searching for a method to blast them from existence, to the brainwashed minion. “For the three months you can’t hurt anyone-“

“Can’t?” Dipper interrupted, languidly dancing orbs of birthmark bonfires speeding tempo into raged swirls of miniature hurricanes as his expression and tone darkened. “I am not some pet mongrel you can order to heel, bitch. I go where I wish, hurt who I choose.” Eyes flashed warning to the hissing spit of embers. “It would do your continued existence well to remember that.”

She shivered, unable to stop her traitorous body from cowering back. “Fine, you can kill others, but not me or any of my family. And you still can’t tell anyone.” Mabel offered in reluctant compromise, guilt gnawing the ends of her sweater sleeves, perfectly aware that by going through with this she was probably sentencing some poor tens of souls to torturous agony before the sweet release of death. Had Dipper delved into lengthy terms of agreement or had he also just blundered through conditions, too desperate to offer anything past a second attempt of compromise?

Dipper huffed at the offer, but fell silent, eerily quiet as his expression slipped to the distance, sense and being lost to thought.

She shifted her weight, uneasily bringing feeling back to her curled up toes. A minute had passed and the boy had made no further sound. In fact he hadn’t moved at all, going so still, a statue frozen without its music. “You’re not going to take it anyway. You’re too scared.”

It was a gamble. She wasn’t walking on thin ice; she was swept off in the water, seconds from drowning and listening to a final, pitiful bathump of life as the plates closed darkness back over her head.

“ **Scared?** I?” Dipper’s face contorted as he snarled. He hopped from the ring, his hands clasping his back as he leaned down, his face pressed close, dangerously close, so near she could pick each ridged jag from the stained glass shoved through purple licked gums. “Little bitch just one minute of the things I have seen would rip all semblance of sanity from the weak mind sat uselessly in that empty nut of yours.”

She tilted her chin defiantly, pretending that the being’s closeness didn’t invoke in her the blatant instinct to dive beneath her bed like some infant driven there to the thunderous clap of nearby storm. She crossed her arms to her chest, barely resisting a relieved mewl at the any sort of comfort the contact brought. “If you think I’m going to fail that much, why not agree? You won’t have anything to lose.”

He drew back, surprised, before astonishment shifted into a widened beam, a  bubble of giggle tipping the head back, eyes lit like some giddy child just found itself in the toy store. “Oooh I like you.” He leaned his head round before following with his body, feet spearing the ground as he circled her like some loomed vulture smelled dinner.

“You’re _fiery_.” He purred appreciatively. At the word his hand exploded into a wreathe of animated cerulean.

He lapped her once then stopped in an abrupt halt, tangle of curls falling sloppily over hooded eyes as he bent forward in a clumsy half bow.

“Very well, three months of my time.” He declared boastfully. “And at the end of them, I shall thoroughly enjoy picking that tongue of yours from that yapping mouth and the limbs off of those you tried to protect.”

Her face blanched, draining of colour as she listened to the very much more than empty threat that Dipper could and would go through with. If she failed, not only would her life be forfeit, but Stan’s and Ford’s as well. But if she didn’t try the only way she’d be getting her brother back would be in a bodybag.

She dubiously eyed the hand stuck out in offering, following the burnish of cobalt flame up to the burned to print brand and wrapped strips of symbols stapling his flesh.  “So how about it, _girl_ ,” He sneered. “Still want to play with the devil, or too afraid you’ll get burned?”

Mabel gulped, suddenly feeling oh so nauseous as she stared into the flame. Every part of Pines in her screamed to run as fast and far as possible from the glowing invite of excruciating doom. But instead she stepped forward, ignoring each of the millions of _this is a bad idea_ s and _this is going to go so, so, wrong_ s that were raging through her mind, their voices erupting louder at each step.  “D-deal.”

She shivered as she took the limb. Dipper’s hand was unexpectedly cold, unfeeling marble a far cry from the warm pad of sweat and nerves it had been a year before. The skin was silken smooth but unnaturally frozen, lifeless and empty of heat like a corpse’s-  She shut the thought hurriedly down before it could take hold and plunge her into yet another depressive slump. She’d find a way to bring him back, they were Pines, they always did. They had to.

She was expecting the flames. She’d seen enough of them in her nightmares to resist the scream building in her throat. If he was surprised at her lack of reaction he barely showed it – the grin only growing wider, the twisting sickle stretching the face eerily out of proportion as eyes crinkled to cruel amusement.

“Oh you and me,” She flinched, struck dumb in stupor as he whispered delicately into her ear. The hand that had brushed chocolate aside fell from her lobe, tracing her jaw before rising to condescendingly pat her cheek. “We’re going to have such _fun_.”

She yanked her arm away, feet stumbling her body back as he cackled – a horrifying sound of psychopathy that left her trembling as if a stampede had just crossed her grave – and disappeared in a flair of dramatics and blinding obnoxious yellow beams. Her legs fell to the floor, body finally giving in to collapse as the world around oozed back into being. She stared brokenly at her hand, the fires that had sealed their promise still burned into vivid memory, wondering exactly what she’d gotten herself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See that one coming? Neither did I, at least not until I wrote it out after the thirty seven or so other crossed out ideas on a now incinerated torn out page of notebook. But anyway, let the games begin! I can promise fluff, angst, ships and some truly horrific moments of brutal gore as Dip Dip attempts to navigate his relationship with Bill and the intricies of the human world; a world he knows nothing of - but then this is a MUI fic, so I guess that's all expected.
> 
> And yeah, there is a chapter coming up of smut. Just smut. Which is probably thought to be long overdue because I've been perfectly okay to blab 127k words or so of some dark ass shit murders, but only had one scene where the happy couple fuck. And you guys deserve it, we're almost at 10k hits and that's unfucking believable. I feel bad for any new readers cuz they have to get through over 40 chapters of whatever this is. I imagine staring at that word count is how people feel when they try to get into One Piece or Bleach. 
> 
> As for deleted scenes, they're more like deleted chapters because brain decided to spew word vomit up over 2k, way too long to be simple add ons at chapter ends. Good news is, you'll still see em. Bad news is it'll be on the next intermission period. I always was the worst at staying under word limits. 
> 
> As for life, I still haven't burned the kitchen down yet, but it'd really only a matter of time. I've even graduated from instant ramen to badly cooked pasta with pan fried smoked salmon. I think I'm addicted. Send help, the place is starting to smell like two week old tuna and I'm pretty sure yesterday I picked a whisker off my face...
> 
> ~MUI


	43. Jelly Belly Billy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the possessive triangular dick by the bar? Yeah that’s my boyfriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, memory wipe yada yada stuff, things, Dipper basically thinks his name is Mizar now. Bad Bill, brainwashing your baby

It had been a long time since Mizar had ever had enough time to spend in the human world without a Bill Cipher constantly looming over his shoulder. Don’t get him wrong, he loved the attention, practically lived for the demon’s praise, but the over possessive blonde with psychotic tendencies and penchant for murder tended to scare off any sort of fun to be had with the insignificant fleshsacks before any could even so much as begin. So naturally as soon as he’d made the wager with the girl, and still, for the first time in a long long time, alone, he went drinking.

He leaned his back casually against the bar counter. It wasn’t the finest of places, practically a hovel in comparison that Bill would never have allowed in a single millennia to take him remotely near. With the suffocatingly close box of badly painted plaster walls smeared shades of nausea and shady, stuttering along lighting poorly cutting through the dense mug of tobacco smoke and booze retch, primitively rustic was perhaps the best way to describe it. Far cry indeed from the palace dripped heavily from spun gold floor to cavernous lush ceiling to every luxury imaginable and un that he could so fondly call home.

Still, the insultingly low level unintelligent drivel the barkeeper so called music didn’t bleed his ears quite so much as it first had when he’d made his entrance, and though the premises still remained a blight to his eye, the strong urge to indulge in sweet, sweet sin and burn the horrid place down to barely past a frazzled crisp had faded away into a manageable suggestion, two changes perhaps helped by the bloodied brawl that had broken off to his front beside a dimly illuminated pool table.

Interest raised he leaned forward, watching the torturous crack of wood as a cue snapped over skull. The man went down, limp like some corpse to lay in a puddle of vomit and lifeforce, only as evidenced by the jerked twitches of limbs splayed on the ground, he was still, oh so unfortunately, alive. The victor was heartily slapped on the back to raucous cheers of those gathered round, the gladiator merrily drinking in the praise before swaggering away with the mob to their place at table to drink the win off.  

Entertainment over, Mizar returned to his thoughts, huffing out a sad sigh. He inclined his head as thanks as the tender slid a glass of crystalline dew his way. It was hard to hold back the full swell of cackle that would no doubt, have driven all residents from their places in their hurry to flee the deranged monster of madman making their midst.

Still, a slight snicker escaped his lips after the first cautious sip, giggling as the sea froth bubbles burst over his tongue. His buds rang to the bitter tang of absinthe mixed in the sweetness of straight vodka and fruited embrace of rum. Whoever had ordered the drink had only had one purpose in mind – to get him under the table senseless, absolutely fucking blotto.

“Compliments of guy in the corner.” Roughened southern burr informed him as a greased rag clumsily swept the counter down, and oh if that didn’t just pique his curiosity.

His cooled gaze followed the extended finger to land on a low class gorilla of male stupidity, his annoyance smoothly hid behind a widened grin as the animal saw its spotlight and gestured violently to its crotch.

He suffered an innocent drawback, indulging a hand, fingers flown to tuck his lips in fake gasp of surprise as the brute rose from his seat and lumbered over in stumbled steps bearing all the gracefulness of a drunken wildebeest.

He bared his teeth, batting seducing lashes as the male loomed, and forced his body to relax rather than shudder in revulsion as he so wished when one meaty paw clamped over his shoulder. He looked like a dumb gorilla, and evidently had all the IQ points of one too.

“You’re alone.” Genius of the year drunkenly slurred, rancid breath rolling from off lips that pulled to a sickened leer. “Awful dangerous place for a pretty boy to be on his own.”

“I’m a big boy,” Mizar simpered. “I can handle myself.”

“I’ll bet.” The dunce’s leer grew, eyes zipping from face to crotch to back to face as he moved closer, hungrily staring as if watching some slab of carcass hung in the butcher’s window. “Cutie like you must get all the girls.” A tongue slid to lick slobber over chops. “And guys.”

Muscles flexed as chubby hands slid to hold his throat, mouth puckering in anticipation as wafts of booze drew nearer.

“Oh you shouldn’t have done that.” Mizar purred.

The man gave a disgusting belch, grinning as if proud of himself at the act. “Why not?”

Mizar allowed a smug grin to stretch over his lips as he coolly slipped his body from out of the hold and patiently sipped the glass. “Because you see that blur of murder hurtling straight towards us? That’s my boyfriend.”

And it was. Bill Cipher, the one and only. Striding forward, throwing anyone downright bonkers enough to cross his path out of the way into chairs and tables to startled screeches, dress shoes slapping the ground in ominous slams promising excruciatingly painful end as he stalked, shoulders hunched, fingers balled to whitened fists, veins popping cheery bright blue to coffee tones, looking seriously  _pissed_.

"You think I care?" The leer deepened. The ape leaned further in, only to be yanked immediately away and thrown to the floor, landing to harsh impact with a surprised yelp.

“ _Disgusting_.” Bill sneered over his nose, an ebony heel driving the man’s face into the rusted carpet. “ _Abhorrent, revolting, repellent, repulsive, low life piece of shit.”_   With each offence raved he aimed a kick, front of shoe connecting agonisingly with side, back, skull in beautiful gurgled crunches.

A crowd had gathered, drawn to the brutality like particularly ignorant moths to a blazing forest fire, though watchful, silent interest quickly fell into warped screams of terror, each observer turning tail and bolting over each other in excited stampede as fingers shifted, drawing to wickedly curved claws, flesh sliding back into bubbled blackened tar. They fled, yanking the door open and sprinting desperately though to raved, nonsensical yells of demons and monsters.

There was a noisy squelch, loud pop, then gutted howl of grief, Bill’s claws leaving the man’s face, now delicately balancing a glistening sphere of flimsy goop up to the dimmed trail of bar lights above. He chuckled, thoughtful as he rolled it for a pause, then, seeming to reach a decision, crushed it to a messed pulp. Mizar felt a flush of heat pool his belly at the sight of his lover, towering in a perfect vision as the mindless animal cowered and blindly scraped fealty in the rightful worship of a god. _His god._

A burst of giggle escaped his chest as the man was lifted, their front dragged to level furiously sparking cerulean orbs, legs bent uselessly as feet scrabbled in hopeless attempt to cling the ground.

“Don’t you know not to touch what’s not yours?” Bill growled, the man whimpering, a darkened path spreading the area of his crotch as the hand not shoved through a fistful of hair carved over his cheek, pausing before falling to their front, hovering the area above their mortality.

The kicked puppy whimpers cut sharply off, a wretched gag of breath catching their sound as in one fell swoop fabric and flesh tore open, razor tips easily wrenching the organ from out of its cage. It sat there, pumping slowed trickles of purple ooze onto once again caramel shone skin. Bill held it to his face, curiously examining before bored expression took over and he chucked it in discard, with barely the waste of a thought, behind his shoulder.  

“And you.”

Mizar purred as his God’s face turned slowly, dangerously, to lock eyes and advance slowly towards his casually straightened figure.

“Did you want him to touch you?”

Mizar moaned delicately as fingers dripped leather from their knuckles, shedding to flesh as they roamed his face in sweet, gentle caress. He whined unashamedly, tipping his head and pressing his chest forward to meet the digits as they slipped down, rolling off his neck to catch over his shirt buttons. They slid below the fabric, a sharpened gasp pouting his lips as nails plucked vehemently over hardened nubs.

“Want him to slam you into the wall-“

Gentle touch turned violent. His head was suddenly wrenched backwards, entire body with it, a playful wince appearing on his features as he leaned easily into the new embrace of plaster, eyes painted to mischief as he stared up to the enraged snarl twisting Bill’s face beautifully out of shape.

“And fuck you senseless as you begged, screaming for his dick in your tight little hole?”

His trousers ripped into torn rags, unable to hold up beneath the brutality of claws assaulting them. "Mmm, fuck Bill, you're hot jealous~" He moaned, choking a cry as in answer nails pressed harder.

“What a fucking tease.” Bill hissed as he drew fire over Mizar’s now entirely nude inner thighs. “Legs already open, spread wide begging for me.”

The hand hovered over his boxers, seemingly thrown to indecision, before those too were ripped from off his hips, totally exposing his inflated manhood.

“Such a slut,” Bill chuckled. He drew strips down the hot flesh, stopping a finger to linger on the bead of dew crowning the head, swiping the drop off to lift it to his lips. Mizar groaned, ignited fires building as a tongue shot to lap smugly over the liquid. “Already dripping for me.”

He came alive at the action, charging forward, hands snapping the belt away from Bill’s slacks to yank at the top of boxers, a snarl rumbling his chest as his wrists were grabbed, pulled up and away against his will. “Need you in me.” He rasped out in a strangled croak, throat closed, caught in the insatiable throes of need. “Wanna feel you deep inside.”

He mewled, keening as fingers slid, dipping in to pull and stretch him open, a scream shaping his mouth as dizziness blurred the world, body arching as if electrified as the bundled ball of pleasure was found and teasingly played with. He gasped as one finger became three, but it still wasn’t enough and he whined his complaint. He needed more.

He hissed, at first in pain, then to wild tangles of pleasure as fingers withdrew to allow something else, bigger, bulkier, smoother, that brushed his hole, pausing in line up before violently ramming invasion. He wailed, breath catching at the back of his throat as Bill settled into paced rhythm, feeling control spin further away as each aim successfully rattled the bundle of nerves that set him alight so.

He tore his gaze down, catching a snap of himself in the ruined fragments of the gorilla’s drink, shirt thrown open to welted pink. The hair shorn to his ears was thoroughly messed, so rampantly swept off side as if had just been helpless victim to some raged hurricane, eyes blown wide in darkened lust as his lips parted in tangled, wanton moans, specks of needful drool pecking his chin as in front Bill held him, forcefully, slammed and fucked him, as promised, into the wall.  

Mizar canted his hips, jumping them up in sharp bucks to meet each thrust as spots of pleasure exploded his vision into a blurring sky filled to endlessly set off pops of vicious implosions. “B..i…ll” he gasped, voice torn ragged to awe. “Hard-er, faster, fuck me up, fuck me so bad.” His words, spurred by spearing bolts of drowning bliss, had reduced to streamed garble. “Want you to fill me, all the way up with your seed.”

He screamed in frustration, sweat and unfairness driving his eyes wild as they rolled madly, when Bill totally stopped. He was _so close_. Maddeningly close. He moved to make his own thrusts, but Bill refused, stubbornly giving no response. A sadistic grin plastered his sneer. “What’s the magic word, kid?”

“Pleeeeease.”  Mizar begged, would have fallen to his knees, pressed his head to the carpet and _grovelled_ if he wasn’t so occupied in standing.

“Mmm,” Bill hummed around the sound, leaning his head to whisper teases of hot pants into Mizar’s ear that had him nearly swooning into his lover’s arms. “Never could resist anything you asked babe, especially not when you ask like that.”

He screamed aloud in euphoria as finally, _finally_ Bill moved, spurring faster and harder as thrusts climbed tempo, effectively spearing into his insides as he clenched, grinding shamelessly into each, every one draining his thoughts further into senseless muck as glorious pleasure built, his body trembling, pushed further and further to the brink, with the sheer effort to contain it all.

“Come for me.” Bill coaxed in velveteen simper. “Spill yourself, remind yourself who owns you, _lover.”_

Mizar's head rammed the wall as he howled, sound ripped from his lips. His eyes scrunched tightly, spiralling into freefall as he released, hot spurts of silver bleach drenching the flat slabs of both their stomachs in sticky substance. 

He felt Bill’s own edge and in one deft movement shimmied his form out of the lock, whimpering slightly in grief as he slid from out of the demon. He dropped to his knees neatly, eternally graceful as lips rounded out, cheeks hollowed, hardly even gagging as his mouth took the entirety of member in one fell gulp. He suckled at it, wheedling the flesh that little bit further, whining as Bill fisted hands through his hair.

The grip tightened, flesh bulging in his throat as it convulsed, clenching into itself before expanding in tidal wave of warmth that flooded his gullet, flowing the backs of his teeth and tongue in heated sweet ambrosia.

He raised his gaze, locking eyes with the God, sternly keeping the contact as his throat constricted in distinct swallow.

“Fuuuuuck Pine Tree." Bill crooned, stroking soft shapes through Mizar's sweaty curls. "My sweet, sexy sapling.”

Mizar grinned deviously, slipping from the sex to playfully butt his head against the still heaving thigh. “Yours.” He nickered, relaxing as Bill pulled him up. He leaned back as arms curled to drape his front, pulling him back deeper into the warmth. He sighed sounds of sweet content as sharpened teeth teased, catching over his neck to possessively, _obsessively_ , rain marks of claim as on off flashes of cobalt and crimson threw new shadows to the dim room.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit we hit 10k. Excuse me while I go off and scream in the corner for fifteen minutes. Like fuck I don’t know what to say, er, type. Seriously, thank you, I’ve never been confident about writing, the style is still extremely experimental and hell, I’m inexperienced as shit, but doing this has really meant that I can at least start working on improving it.
> 
> I really hope that smutfest was a good enough reward for all the support you amazing people have given, though I feel even ten straight chapters of nothing but nonstop sweet, sweet demon fucking wouldn’t even scratch the surface of being enough. Though yeah, this is only the beginning of the sexy times. And gore, some ex-treem-el-ee lengthy death scenes coming up, seriously recommend light breakfasts for those ones, we'll be hitting some gore level 20s, and nope, that's no exaggeration. It's going to get brutal.
> 
> Sufficient tease? Good. See you next week,  
> ~MUI


	44. Demon on Speed Dial

Darkness. Darkness was all he knew.

It was a strange kind of shadow, the type that felt oddly comforting, the inky tendrils swaddling his skin, fur, flesh, being(?) oddly soothing.

Feelings. He remembered feelings. Odd little sparks of _somethings_ that led to inner pains and pleasures.

Darkness shifted a tone lighter as two parts of him slid curiously open.  

He blinked, _feeling_ startled ( _cause to feel sudden shock or alarm_ ) as his presence grew. He looked down, aware that there should be more than this. So he set to work, his conscious pulling together two twigs from the nothingness around him that fitted at odd ends of a rounded, conjured lump. Still, it felt wrong, so he added two, longer twigs to the lump, flexing each experimentally, with a bubble of glee ( _great delight, especially from one's own good fortune or another's misfortune_ ) as each moved to a clumsy salute at command.

Still, he wanted _more_ ( _a greater or additional amount or degree_ ) so he added a stem to connect the opened parts to the middle lump, building a canvas to rest off the stem that he painted lines to, three to its middle in an oddly calming _triangle_ ( _a plane figure with three straight sides and three angles_ ), one in a low arch over each opened space and two at the sphere’s bottom, ends of stumps rising to cautiously prod at the supple strokes which in turn opened to pointed shaven stubs. He pushed blunt stumps through the hole, a sweet sound swelling the lump as tiny pricks needled at the stunted ends.

Pain ( _highly unpleasant physical sensation caused by illness or injury_ ). He remembered pain. Pointed stubs ground together, clamping further pressure over the blunt stumps which suddenly gave, bitter ( _sharp, pungent taste or smell; not sweet_ ) tang filling the cavern as lines turned slippery wet. The sound climbed higher, a feverous pitch which buzzed the two bumps lined at the sides of ball as the stem shook, solid disappearing down it leaving the ends _lacking_ so he withdrew the oozing part, painting three new replacements into the leaking ditch.

He gave a pleased hum, and curled the strange longer twigs into the lump, the two shorter locking over, just below the twig’s knobbled middles.

Exhausted with the effort, the two openings slid slowly closed as he stuttered into a listless state, unaware, yet remaining completely aware, of everything going on around him.

When he next awoke everything was far, far too bright. It was as if a lightswitch had been flicked on – the world exploded into being and suddenly he knew far too much.

The universe was a lie, reality a hologram. There was no god, no hope, no next life after end. Twenty years, 810 chapters, 778 episodes, and they still hadn’t found One Piece.

He screamed, clawing at _ears_ , those ridden bumps were _ears_ , as more information flooded, each revelation dragging him to drown deeper into the nonsensical muck that pulled, yanking him out of  comforting shadow and into explosive, stark illumination.

He howled, sobbing brokenly. It was so much. Too much. The world, the universe, the multiverse he saw it _all_. Millions, billions of bytes of information worming his brain. It was too much, far too much for one mind to handle and he knew with dreadful certainty that he was turning insane.

He scratched strips over cheeks, wailing broken screeches as more continued to pour, hundreds and thousands of epiphany bombarding his mentality till facts leaked like tarry ooze from the tunnels of his ears to drip into the nest of fabrics making his hair. He screeched and howled, shrieking terrible wrenches of voice until his throat was hoarse and mouth worn ragged, the weight crushing his mind squeezing ever tighter until he couldn't breathe and he was  _dying_ and still the void pushed more and-

“Hey there kiddo.”

He blinked back his surprise, sobs fading to a low, trembling sniffle as fingers lifted from over his face.

Opposite him, oh so casual in the pitch void as if it belonged there, floated an iridescent, golden triangle. He giggled as the one eye swept weirdly shut then open in a cheery wink, a pipe cleaner of limb stretching the distance to offer an elegant invitation.

The triangle continued its chirp, its body humming softly brighter to the sound. “Looking a little lonely there.”

He opened his mouth experimentally, stuttering over expression. “Who, are you?”

The triangle tipped the top hat perched off its top edge. “Names Bill Cipher, but the more pressing question, _is who are you?”_

“Well that’s the thing,” he admitted brokenly, slowly unfurling twigs from their ball as he turned to properly face the talking triangle, a thin burst of giggle escaping his lips as he thought back on how silly that entire sentence seemed. His expression fell back to morose. “I don’t really know.”

“Now that’s a shame,” Bill’s yellow turned a sympathetic blue, a hand raising to swipe a dewdrop from the edge of sobered eye. “Nothing sadder than a thing that don’t know what or who it is.”

He softly sobbed his agreement.

“Come now, no need for that,” Bill chided softly. “Dry those eyes kiddo.” An arm stretched; impossibly long, to pat soothingly over his back. “We’ll find you a name, don’t you worry that pretty little head over it.”   Blue faded back into blinding yellow as upbeat chirrup returned. “In the meantime, how about hanging out with me?”

 

“What’s the goofy grin for?”

“Mmm, just dreaming.” Mizar purred, nuzzling his head further into his lover’s exposed chest, a happy mewl breaking his lips as an arm draped protectively over his shoulder, drawing him deeper into the embrace.

“Oho, and did yours truly happen to make an appearance?” Bill teased, pushing his face deeper, inhaling the sweet wafts of vanilla decorating the nest of chocolate curls at his front.

“May have done.” Mizar mumbled delicately, jumping to a girlish squeak as slender fingers danced a long, deliberate strip down his throat.

“Oh? And did it happen to go a little like this~” Bill purred, his other hand reaching down to pluck elegant swirls over raised nubs.  

Mizar’s mouth broke to a wanton pant before he, reluctantly, pushed the hand away. “Hey Bill, I can’t, sorry, I got a client I’m meeting them today.”

Bill’s face fell, pushing to deepened hurt. He held a hand over his flesh, gasping as if struck. “Putting death over sex? Thought I knew you better. Well it better be a pretty violent one to make up for all this…” he pompously flexed muscle. “Cuz I can guarantee if it ain’t at least rated R you just missed out big time.”

Mizar forced his eyes from the bulging lines of power. “Yeah it is, idiot bargained their soul. But in order to get it I gotta arrive whenever they call, and ring ring,” He spat bitterly, “Time to pick up.” He sighed as the dream demon pouted. “I’ll make it up to you, later, promise.” He leaned closer, conspiratorially whispering, “I’ll even wear the black panties you like so much.”

Bill’s expression immediately perked. His tongue slid to gently lap the string of drool gathered from plump surfaces. “The _lace_ ones?”

“Uh-huh.” Mizar ghosted breath over sharpened jawline.

Electric eyes sparked new life to half-lidded lust. “Oh babe, you’re so cruel, teasing me with those **and** making me wait.”

“Yeah, it’s almost like I’m a demon.” Mizar ground flatly before his tone softened. “Besides, best things in life-“

“Come to those who take em straight away.” Bill growled fiercely, yanking his body closer.

“To those who wait, _patiently._ ” Mizar finished firmly, finally succeedding on detangling himself from the one beneath him.

“Better be worth it.” Bill grumbled sullenly beneath his breath.

“Oh don’t worry,” Mizar cooed in a velvet simper, leaning over to swipe a tongue over the curl of ear. “It will be.”

“Well okay then,” Bill unhappily conceded, acting, as he folded his arms and fixed a stern glare, like some just born brat had its favourite plaything taken away. “Just be quick, okay? You know I hate waiting for _anything_. Especially adorable dorky demon boys.”  

“You won’t even notice I’ve been gone,” He promised silkily as his form flickered, phasing away to fade into shadow.

He sighed. He didn’t like lying to Bill – though technically he hadn’t lied, it _was_ business and he _would_ be getting a soul out of it. Not lying per se, just failing to mention all the facts. Besides, he was a demon, he devoured souls for snacks, tricked men to murder their families as a pastime, knew the true terrors of the universe, what horrors could a mere mortal nineteen year old child possibly devise to make a dream demon tremble?

 

* * *

 

He took it back. No soul, not even some wishy washy, purest of heart virgin’s, was ever worth this, this, this torture.

“$1456 dollars please.”

He raised a brow delicately; suspiciously eyeing the stack of red buildings piled one on top of each other into a cramped fit over the space. “I’m sure something about this is against the rules.”

“Since when did you care about rules?” The girl scoffed. “Now pay up.” The smile turned smug as words cheerily sang. “Unless you wanna _forfeit_.”

A low snarl caught his throat as he slammed the wad of purplish pages onto the board’s centre. She giggled, flashing shone molars as rainbow-dazzled hands snapped out, greedily snatching the bunch out of his reach.

“You know, for a demon, you’re not very good at this.” She commented, happily arranging the pile into five, only slightly smaller, stacks.   

“Oh I’m sorry, I had no idea being good at a board game had such an impact on how well you mutilated your enemies.” He sniped waspishly.

“Oh my god,” She realised with a laugh. “You’re sulking.” And he was; Mizar’s arms had folded into a defensive shield over his chest, his face taking a sullen pout as tiny breaths of frustration tickled fiery brushed lips.

“No I’m not, and anyway there is no god.” He muttered petulantly, the counter cautiously balanced between his thumb and forefinger beginning to give off light curls of smoke.

“You’re sulking cuz you’re losing at Monopoly!” Her body doubled over to a grating cackle, the sound a vehement itch to his ears, as offensive as nails over chalkboard. “This is too cute, hold still, okay?”

“Why?” he growled suspiciously, but she gave no answer, had turned away from both he and the game and was determinedly rifling through a thrown open trunk, throwing object after object out before arriving on an “Ah-hah!”

“The fuck!” He snarled, angrily rubbing camera flash from his eyes.

She shrugged, happily mouthing some dumb made up word suspiciously similar to scrapbookatunity.

“You know, I’m not playing anymore.” He growled icily, shooting the bitch a chilling glare as he stood, determinedly, from the table.

He felt his stomach drop 6,371 kilometres to the earth’s core as her face lit, sparking to a sly grin. “Great, I’ll get the Disney movies then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, fluff chapter full of sweetness. Short because I really hate writing when ill, and fluffy because whoo boy, gore returns next chapter, starting off with a nice solid level 7.
> 
> As for Mabel's version of Monopoly, me and my family play a fun little relationship-ruiner called crazee monopolee, where any amount of hotels can be placed on streets, and games don't end until all but one player have willingly forfeited. We're a stubborn lot - games have run into hundreds of thousands of debt before even one person admitted defeat.
> 
> That's my regular spiel over, gonna go lay down and pop a bunch of painkillers, I can barely see the keys from keyboard as it is, sorry this one's only filler, see you next week, with a much longer chapter, going back to the usual horrific shit to give you nightmares for the next six nights.  
> ~MUI


	45. Plot? What Plot?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deadlines. Deadlines. Deadlines. Hate em.
> 
> Plot? What plot? This is porn. Straight up. Because I hate so many deadlines my schedule has been jammed full, but I also hate leaving readers unsatisfied, so I did my best, forced myself to take thirty minutes from the packed schedule, sat down at my laptop and dragged this out my head. And it’s smut. Pure, un-plot related smut.I'll do my best to get that gore 7 chapter out soon, but no promises, till then, I can only hope that this can even begin to make up for it.  
> Enjoy.  
> ~MUI

“Fuuuuuuuuck.” Bill moaned appreciatively, a delicate line of slobber escaping his lips as Dipper emerged from the bathroom, hips swinging to a confident swagger, a telling bulge outlined to perfect clarity in the grips of the thin slip of near see through raven silk barely gripping tanned waist. The shred of not quite cloth was the only form of fabric to adorn the beautiful form, the lithe cattish body otherwise entirely nude, panther-like as it moved, brimming with sureness, towards the bed on which Bill sat, shocked upright, his breaths reduced to hardened pants, figure already shivered painfully erect.

“Heya baby.” Dipper purred huskily as he padded, gloried eyes lit to lust boxed by sweeps of vivid gold kohl, puffed cheeks risen to a beautiful red blush. “Did you miss me?”

 _More than you could ever imagine._ Bill’s mouth was open, ready to respond, but suddenly he was only able to groan in answer – in one swift move Dipper had dropped to his knees in front of the demon, bowing his head and kneeling as if in prayer, clever fingers reverently caressing the triangle burnt through stomach flesh in faithful, awed worship, before that head had snapped immediately up, those same clever fingers deftly pulling the hardened slab of his member free from its confines.

He grunted as the digits teased little pauses over the flesh, before plush, ample lips parted, Dipper’s tongue running playful little strips over heat in small, kitten like licks. After a few minutes of play the immortal teen seemed to grow bored, with barely a complaint widening his mouth and surging forward, shoving the entire thing in.

Bill’s eyes scrunched in fantastica as Dipper worked, keening muffled whimpers as he deep-throated, the elder demon’s gaze wrenched downwards, fixed on the gentle fall of curls over mocha as the head bobbed between his knees. He raised shaking fingers, raking them into fistfuls of fluffy russet cloud, dragging the willing boy’s face closer into his crotch, so far that the button nose pressed against searing flesh.

A groan escaped his lips, the sound entirely wanton as heat steadily built, pushed further and further, impossibly far, to brink as Dipper’s head rose up and down, walls of dam shuddering then falling, entirely surrendering as sweet sinful cherry tongue suckled the head in coaxing slick pops.

Sensing the change, the boy slid, his expression fluttering to brief reluctance as his mouth gave up the furiously pulsing member, before eyes fluttered to eager anticipation, mouth lips pushed open expectantly, as hot white spurts surged, milk jets dripping from off heated cheeks.

Bill grunted as the high rode out, but evidently Dipper wasn’t done, a finger raising to the cream, plucking a dollop from off the flesh and in mocking mirror of Bill’s own actions back at the bar, pushed the substance through ruby lips, skin cleaned to the loud smacking of lines together.

Darkly hooded eyes shifted alive to new interest as Bill paused, struck to dumb stupor as he mutedly stared, and in an expert move Dipper had shimmied the lace from his hips, then before Bill had chance to blink the youth’s body had gracefully slithered up Bill’s. Electric eyes lifted up, the nest of milky chocolate now perched ever so slightly above caramel, the boy opposite perfectly balanced as he teetered, inched up from Bill’s lap, before in one fell motion, and to the gutted gasps of the both of them, slamming down.

Heat pooled Bill’s belly as Dipper’s hips twitched, the boy bouncing up and down, working to settled rhythm as he fucked himself on Bill’s rock member, eyes screwed to half lidded pleasure and mouth thrown open in tiny gaps of silenced _oh’s_ as he fell and rose, head thrown back to join with Bill’s whines of ecstasy, tawny curls spattered to the touch of spine as violently trembling back arched to the high heavens.

“Shit kiddo, you’ve been holding out on me.” Bill growled accusingly as the both of them spilled over, a snarl catching the back of his throat. Dipper slowly raised his head from the cradle of Bill’s neck, meeting his gaze, an aloof smirk staining his lips smug as galaxies of eyes _chaos they were beautiful_ , each speck pooled in orbs a delicate cluster of constellation in its own right, sparkled to brightly shone mischief. The sex fiend was still not sated, and suddenly Bill’s theory of the incubus influence remaining seemed all but proven true.

What followed wasn’t a gentle declaration of love and care to last eternity. It was pure carnal fucking. Two animals in heat that threw each other across the room, sense painted crimson to desire as one slammed the other into whichever surface was available, each grappling for control. Sometimes Bill held the upper hand, holding Dipper’s face into plush fuzz of carpet as he loomed above, the boy beneath pinned to place between sweated legs, others Dipper was master, the newer demon’s strength winning hardened battle as he trapped Bill against the bedpost, taut shoulder shivering as arms wrapped tight cage over heaving chest, pulling the body deeper into embrace as messed licks of gold shuddered into brown splintering beneath the weight of scrabbling nails.

Bill stretched aching limbs lazily, a tight wince pulling the corner of his lip as joints buzzed dull protests. He ignored them, pulling an arm to snatch a dazed Dipper closer to his panting chest, their two forms gingerly swaddled to the tattered remnants of silken covers. One hand reached up, fingers coasting delicately through the mess to pluck downy feathers from the tangle of locks, the dulled grey edges dyed a vibrant tone of crimson.

“We broke the bed.” He snickered, eyes sliding to the side, gaze sweeping over fragmented posts mournfully.

In his arms Dipper stirred alive, letting out his own raspy chuckle.

“It was a good bed too.” Bill murmured in low, sorrowed tones.

Dipper’s face stretched to a widened grin as he sleepily mumbled. “Mhmm, but it was worth it.”

“Oh definitely.”   Bill cooed, simpering sugared honey as he pressed his lips, capturing the blazing ball of _Mizar_ in a chaste kiss.   


	46. Killing Time (And Other Things)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand she’s back. And oh boy is it good to be. Oh life it really would be appreciated if you took me to dinner first, you know, before bending over and fucking me in the ass? I won’t bore you with the details, after all the reason you’re here is for hot, smexy love between a boy and his cornchip and possibly the gratuitous scenes of senseless gore of murders I just can’t seem to stop writing, all I’ll say is that shit hit the fan, my workload increased to drastic proportions so much so that I’ve been pulling all-nighters just to keep up with, and somehow I’m still fucking ill – friends, gotta love em right? Wrong. Old buddy old pal gave me their illness which they somehow got over in two days whilst I’m still here, dying of, two weeks later. Thanks for that bestie. Cheers a total bunch.
> 
> But we’re back in business, doped up on paracetamol and this close (you can’t see it but it’s awfully close) to fainting on my bedroom floor. Huzzah. But I wasn’t about to leave my favourite readers three weeks without updates. So yanno, apologies for the delay and here yuggo. Nothing on the scale of the usual gore but it’s about time to get the ball rolling and return to the days of light breakfasts and sudden bathroom breaks.  
> Lotsa love  
> ~MUI

Mizar was hopelessly, depressingly, mind-numbingly _bored_. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly to a dejected sigh before he gathered them back to his neck in a bothered huff. His mind still buzzed, slight twitches of annoyance that jumped up in waves of frequency as merry little oh so fuckingly catchy songs stubbornly demanded his attention. He was halfway through pointedly ignoring the chorus of _under the sea under the sea darling it’s better down where it’s wetter_ (snort, kids film sex joke) when the book he was distractedly half reading – 501 most brutal ways to have your enemies begging for death – caught fire, the page he’d been halfway down suddenly lost to a burst of azure which quickly devoured the inky line, hungrily swallowing up first the rest of the chapter then the entire thing.

Snarling, he dropped the now inferno, heels grinding past the half ash pile, soles of feet loudly slapping over wood tiles in badly contained anger. He coursed fingers through the shag of his hair, the other hand curling into a clenched fist that swung a stern pendulum at his sides as he strode purposefully out the library and through the palace halls, mood so sour that not even the hung decorations of stapled trophies of flesh and prettily hanging corpses draped from the ceiling, glass-filter eyes bugged out to sheer terror in white sheen faces with wisped hair fallen over necks cracked broken in awkward angles, that mostly always brought a sick grin to his face, this time could even begin to salvage.  

He dropped a curt nod in terms of greeting as he stalked past a flash of sudden pink who entertained her own greeting of a raised hand but otherwise stayed where she was; he enjoyed the demoness and liked her company almost as much as Bill’s, but she and the other maniacs knew better than to approach when he was in one of his moods unless suicidal, lest they and that entire palace wing bubble off to smoking goo.

His paces echoed loudly off corridors, normally confident swagger steps emboldened more than ever by his rage, and he violently swung grand double doors apart, barely raising a thought to the works of twisted ore pulled into delicate fauna and shows of human agony that slammed into solid with a sickening crunch, before storming through.

The throne (singular, there was only ever one throne, a gold monstrosity that lorded its riches metres over every insignificant other, one because he was so sure Bill loved his humiliation, loved him sitting in his lap, cheeks blushing to a firetruck and breath hiking further with each new finger dipping below the waistline of his boxers to toy with his rapidly hardening member as above his submissively bent head the ruler doled out punishments and read politics to his subjects) was empty. Bill was out – Bill always seemed to be out now. Doing what he didn’t know, the damn demon would, to his deepest frustrations, never tell him, usually avoiding the subject by slamming Mizar’s front into the nearest surface and stripping the clothes from his lower whenever the younger brought it up. The sex he would never complain about, but chaos be damned he needed to _know_. For fuck’s sake he wasn’t a child, and Bill was treating him like one, a child, a –n extremely horny – child.

Mizar growled, turning sharply on his heel to thunder back the way he’d come. He threw his hands to the sky, snarling a not sorry as behind his back the lavish carpet lapping the feet of the towering throne puddled into violently boiling liquid. Bill had told him oh so many times, sat down and held his hand and made him promise he’d never leave the palace, much less the dimension, without permission, said it had been for his own safety and tearfully admitted he was terrified of losing his lover and Mizar had agreed, crying tears of his own, and then, like they always somehow ended up, the sex, mindblowing, pure carnal fuckery, perfect, violent sex.

Whatever twinge of guilt he felt for betraying that promise was quashed, instantly squashed down beneath a new wave of anger as his mind suddenly occupied itself to the bitch’s blasted rendition of _let it go let it go get this fucking song out of my head_.

His lips curled in rapt disgust. Bill had told him never to leave unless summoned but he’d already broken that rule once. And more importantly, a thin smile pulled the corner of his lip as the epiphany hit,  _but_   _Bill wasn’t here._

…

It was laughingly easy to find a mortal worn down by the woes of the world, even easier to convince the poor little thing that all its troubles were not its own fault but those of the ones it surrounded itself by. A few little whispers in the ear, a simper of sympathy, coo of allegiance, promise of friendship, impart of trust, suggestion of that bottle of hooch beneath the sink. That was all it took. Wind them up, step aside and watch them go. It really was far too simple.

Mizar inclined his head, gaze sweeping over the low pile of splintered limbs that had now taken up the entire sitting room floor. He tipped a half ripped face over with the side of his heel, a sliver of glee needling away at his insides as the half popped out eyeball, held together only by a thing leak of silvered webbing, watched back in frozen horror.

“You missed one.”  He drawled in bored tones, completely disinterested as the exhausted eyes opposite rekindled their predatory fire, bloodied fingers climbing up the handle for better grip as scarlet-stain boot toes padded with elephant subtlety, stomping forward through the massacre to begin a new carnage as a tiny form trembled, the lithe little insect slipping out from under the leg of table with a distressed yip and throwing themselves across the room in a suddenly inspired quick sprint. The quivering back disappeared through the glass-frost panel door in a cartoonish humanoid dust outline.

His little puppet – Mizar hadn’t bothered to learn the guy’s name, let’s just call him dumbo – contributed all the genius of a bestial snarl of his own and gave chase, lumbering clumsily towards where the sugary sweet innocent cupcake had fled, contraption in hand shuddering as it angrily revved tank-like roars. In fashion of true horror cliché the witless thug had opted for chainsaw and the weapon now shrieked, orderly row of blades spinning alive once more, snickering at it sped tempo, churning coppery substance from their teeth to stain the walls around a delightful cheery scarlet.

Mizar gave one last sigh to the corpse carpet and dragged himself slowly after, heels crunching landing over bones of hook noses in infant like bounds with the same joy and abandon as a spawn gleefully jumping ponds of water spread across grey pavement after a heavy rainfall.  He found the pair locked in another far too overdone trope, the shivering child scrabbling desperately at the handle of the locked front door, face manically flying back and forth between the obstacle in front and the killer slowly lurching his way towards them.

“No no no, you prehistoric caveman oaf, you’re doing it all _wrong_.” Mizar snarled, cursing the dimwit’s stupidity as he shoved them aside to take their place in the hall. “Don’t go for the clichés, they expect that. It’s okay little one,” his tone softened out of its growl as he turned from the killer to the child pressing its body against the wall, offering the frightened cub sympathetic trill and a reassuring hand as he crouched down, “I won’t hurt you, see the big scary man is _gone_.” He raised the other hand, gesturing a thin line in the air, and Dumbo screamed as he spoke, one hand falling from the saw to clutch balding polished bowling ball of a head and the cut newly blossomed to the space above their nose, wheezing a pained grunt as they stumbled away.

“But not for long, he will come back and I can’t keep him forever, but you munchkin,” Mizar let the sentence hang, a flutter of annoyance passing when the kitten snapped its head left and right in a defiant shake, mumbling something irritatingly like a no.

“Still wanting to play happy families then?” the child trembled, form withering further away, windows of eyes visibility wilting like some dying flower with its petals torn off, as he snorted derisively. “Sit at the table with mama and papa and baby makes four?”

He pressed the knife handle into the child’s paw, the other pressing their fingers to curl firmly around the wood grip.  “But oh dear, old daddy’s not been so nice has he? Poor mummy won’t be cooking dinner anytime soon, and tiny Tim as well, now isn’t that a shame.” The child pressed against his front choked back a sob, pretty blonde braids curled off in bright ribbon strands bobbing up down like a buoy in storm-rocked waves as small fingers wrenched tears off eyes. Happy that the hand would remain where it was, he withdrew its own, a pleased hum thrumming in his throat as the girl stayed, making no move to drop the knife.

“Daddy’s been verrrry naughty, hasn’t he?” He tsked, leaning his head down to coo gently into their ear, a hand clamped softly onto one fuzzy pyjama-gripped shoulder as he curled round their body, hugging his own form round them like an anaconda swaddling its prey. “And naughty adults get punishments.”

And that was all the encouragement the delight needed, the angel stumbling out and away, steps still slightly unsure as their stuttering feet carried them slowly forward like the just born fawn they were.

Mizar crossed his arms and cocked his head, watching the scrap from the side-lines with some interest. The adult was obviously the favourite, fully grown muscle and superior strength, not to mention hulking size, left that much obvious, but the child was somehow holding their own just the same, panic and adrenaline, as well as that smaller stature perfect for dodging and each feral swipe of knife out at skin surging them closer to an even standing.

His interest piqued slightly, eyes blowing a little wider as the child rolled narrowly out of the way, just barely missing an involuntary shortening, the chainsaw lodging itself firmly into the wall as the adult dumbly grunted and heaved in an attempt to drag the weapon out, only to find it quite stuck. Sensing their chance, the child threw itself at the larger, scrambling their body up the exposed back and inelegantly capturing constricting collared throat between tiny bunched fists.

He leaned forward, drawn unconsciously towards the bloodbath as the knife sank in then ripped out, slamming through tissue over and over in a sped up violent tempo until legs gave out and the chest collapsed, smashing loudly into floorboards, the child still anchored on top, breathless little gasps peeling off from pushed open lips. Honey strands stuck in place over brightened aquamarine eyes, plastered to heavy beads of sweat that caked the furrowed brow, stained fingers ramming one last blow into collarbone before feet unsteadily slid from off their perch, slipping their body from off the messy unrecognisable pulp of what had once been person.

Mizar gave a fumed grunt as his mind was assaulted to _our guest be our guest, put our service to the test-_

“Go on girlio,” He interrupted, smirking as he slipped the door open and took a step into fresh air. “It’s a big ol’ world out there, why don’t we go say hello?”

…

 “Oh darling, you did so well,” he praised as he gathered the little sweet off the curb and in to his chest. She whimpered soft keens as he rubbed soothingly over the bullet gash staining through bright pink unicorn pattern. “So, so well,” He oozed. “Made me very proud munchkin. But alas, all things must come to an end and I’m afraid our little tragedy is almost up. You’ll still smile for me though, won’t you baby girl? One last little scare for our audience?” she shivered, the little trooper flashing a weak smile as her ratty fingers clawed desperately over his cheeks.

“There’s a good little thing.” He purred. “We’re going to show them all a little magic trick, everyone likes magic tricks. Now you see it,” a chirpy giggle tore his throat, carving his lips into a sadistic grin as his fingers danced over her pupils, nails lengthening into claws as they sank into fleshy softness, scooping each tiny sphere out of it place.

The giggle climbed to a possessed cackle as the girl screeched, her body convulsing, jumping in his grip. “Now you don’t!” He threw his head back, roaring uncontrollably as the gathered blue pigs panicked.

“Don’t forget to take a bow, princess, big finale now~” he warbled jubilantly as the crowd pressed their circle tighter. “Highest rule of theatre, sweets, always gotta go out with a bang!”

As if sensing its cue, flesh and pyjama flannel shivered, pulsing, then popped open like some disgusting zit just squeezed into an eruption, mucus and organ bursting from pretty china in violent jets to splatter the surroundings, painting the road and police visors vivid slimy purple. One stretch of inside curled around a navy uniform neck like some drenched soggy feather boa.

 “It’s been fun girly, we should do this again sometime.” He prodded a drip of stretched out liver with one finger. His smile disappeared, thinning to a sternly set line as the childish amusement fell off his face. “Or not. Well, it’s still been fun, probably more for me than you, you’re, well, you’re just, dead.” Another giggle built as he locked gaze with a shorn off pinkie.

“And that’s my line,” he snickered as the collar lashing his throat came alive, angrily tightening its grip into a warning choke. Bill must have returned and found him missing. Whoops. He wagged a finger. “Be a good girl now, do your homework and brush your teeth, don’t eat sweets and no staying up past nine pm when Uncle Mizar’s gone.”

He petted the remains of a blonde pigtail then stood up from the mess, dusting his palms off his hips to a regretful sigh. “Exit stage left, pursued by an angry demon.”


	47. Demon Deals & Dead Seals

Mabel teetered, nearly tripping over her feet, choking an exasperated gurgle of sigh as she finally remembered how to breathe, her mouth still dropped open, eyes blown wide, gawking at her demon twin brother who had _just appeared from nowhere_ -

-right after she’d taken the first step out of the shower.

“Roommate was being pissy.” The demon explained sulkily.  He blinked owlishly before an eyebrow crept up and the mouth twisted into a greasy leer, the eyes aloofly smirking as they swept over the towel tightly clutched into the soggy rolls of body fat. "Thought I’d come to play, though not like that, you’re far too insignificant and puny to ever hope-“

“OUT GET OUT!” Mabel screamed, her face purpling as veins bulged and cheeks hamstered out in enraged puffs. She reached for the nearest weapon – a stubby bar of soap – and lobbed it at his face, the projectile hitting him square on his nose then sliding slowly down the side of his face and neck to smear soapy bubbles down his chest.

“Jeez alright, don’t get your panties in a twist.” He paused, the sneer still plain on his lips, before drawling in condescending, mocking tones. “Oh wait, my mistake, you aren’t even wearing _those_.”

He vanished before she could find something bigger to throw.

She huffed breath, spitting fire and angrily snarling obscenities that would make even her family blush and turn their faces away as she began to towel off.

There was a scream of machine and human from downstairs, the voice gravelled and rough though muffled, as if the speaker were some eighty year old uncle caught in between the crash of thrown contraption with an arm tightly locked over their neck slowly squeezing the life from their eyes…

“GRUNKLE STAN!” Mabel screeched in horrified realisation, hurriedly snagging legs into textiles and yanking a jumper over drenched chocolate, snatching the door and rushing out, practically falling over the steps as she thundered down the stairs, sprinting through the hall and staggering into the kitchen to find a smug Dipper grinning as if the Persian just chugged a litre of cream casually stretched out on a low kitchen chair as if it were some golden throne, and the Grunkle, eyes bulged and breath timed to the vein ticking over the edge of risen forehead, a red lace sprung over the lash of business tie, the imprint of fingers still pressed into flesh, a dead coffee maker shattered into sorry pieces by his feet.

“Mabel Pines.” The elder thundered. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Dipper flinch, his lips carving open into a small whisper of o at the name. “What have you done?”

“Eheh,” She laughed, weakly, and cracked a sheepish smile, raising her hands off her chest as if offering a tiny wrapped invisible present to the elder. “Surprise?”

…

“Bringing him here, into the Shack, what were you thinking?” Stan demanded angrily as he paced yet another lap of the sitting room, before halting, huffing like an angered bull. His eyes popped to disbelief, hands flailing as they swept through the air as if swatting at some unseen mosquito.  

“SoIkindamaybemadeadealwithademontogetmybrotherback.” Mabel garbled, the words falling over themselves to an incoherent sped babble.

“Slower.” Stan barked commandingly, fixing her with a stern glare.

“So I kinda maybe made a deal with a demon to get my brother back.” She mumbled, slower. Her eyes toed the floor guiltily. “And that demon may have been Dipper, except he doesn’t really know he’s Dipper, he thinkshisnameisMizarandhedoesn’trecognisemeandhedoesn’tknowhewashuman-“ She broke off from the stream in a sharp gasp, furiously chugging for breath.

“So you’re saying, you summoned your brother,” Mabel nodded. “And made a deal with him to get Dipper back?” She nodded again, eyes blinking tears from their corners as dread settled, fearing the question she knew was coming next-

The conman quietened, sharply exhaling breath. When he finally spoke his voice was suspiciously calm. “And the deal was?”

“I have three months to make him regret killing, or,” Mabel faltered.

“Or?” Stan pressed, leaning forward.

“Or he gets my soul.” Mabel continued, her voice small, wanting nothing more than to fade away into the furniture.

“What is it with this family and selling their souls to the forces of evil?”  Mabel wilted beneath the burning glare drilled her way. “He’s a killer,” Stan roared, ignoring the girl now near tears as he continued, raging. “He’s a murderer and a psychopath and cuckoo bananas insane-“

“And my brother.” Mabel interrupted firmly. She crossed her arms to her chest. Her eyes fluttered steely, the metal ringing in her voice. “He’s my twin, Grunkle Stan. Bill may have messed with his head, may have tortured him so far he doesn’t even know his own name, may have turned him into a _monster_.” Her voice cracked as she said it, finally realising the weight. Dipper wasn’t human, Dipper wasn’t _human_.  Even if she got him back, she’d always lose him in the end, she’d die and he wouldn’t, and then he’d be all alone with just Bill all ready and waiting for his puppet to return of its own accord and no Mabel Pines to get him back.

Her shoulders trembled; face lighting to fierce determination as she shied away from the gaping black hole that epiphany had ripped into existence. Save the existential crisis for another day, another time, Mabel. Right now convince your uncle not to greet your long lost twin brother with the barrel end of a shotgun. “But that’s Dipper. And I need to at least try. You’d do the same if it were Ford.”

Stan sighed, relenting. He pulled back, delicately mopping bears of paws over his drenched brow. “Yeah, I guess I would. You know he’s not going to be happy about this.”

Understatement of the century. Ford wouldn’t be unhappy – he’d be thoroughly pissed and reaching for his latest batch of anti-Bill (patent pending) bullets.

Mabel laughed flatly. “Yeah, he’d try and kill him, again. Which is why Ford isn’t finding out.” Her voice turned stern. “Ever.”

“Fine. Point-dexter stays in the dark. Just know that I don’t like this, not one bit. Leaving you alone with that monster, it’s too dangerous. I ain’t planning two family funerals.”

“We’re Pines.” She tried for a smile but the line wavered sickeningly, fooling neither of them. “Danger is the family game.”

Stan grunted his recognition. “I really hope you know what you’re doing here kiddo.”

Her voice turned quietly grim as she whispered beneath her breath. “So do I.”

“This episode of Family Feuds finally over?” Dipper’s head poked round the archway, an excited upbeat grin staining it. He strode into the room, possessively looping an arm tightly over her shoulder.  “Shame, I seem to have missed all the fun. Gives us a smile gramps, the girl’s not dead yet.”

Stan glared fresh murder, his voice venomous. “Get him out. Take the Diablo, I don’t care, just get him out of this house.”

“Oh honey this is not a house.” Dipper simpered in obnoxious sugar.

Stan’s veins bulged, pulsing dangerously close to exploding. **“Out.”**

“Come on Di-Mizar,” Mabel hurriedly corrected, the name falling, dead ash on her tongue. “Let’s take you somewhere nice.”

…

One extremely awkward car trip and close to two hours rendition of the benefits of dismembering, rather than just destroying your enemies later, and Mabel plastered a flimsy grin over her grimace, turning that frown upside down exactly as her sweater chirpily said to. She pocketed their two tickets and led her brother by the arm through the turnstiles, her cheeks reddening as she caught the flash of jealousy – okay yuck ew no thank you – in the attendant’s eyes.

At her protests, Dipper had thankfully swapped out the baby blue waistcoat he’d popped up in that morning, but stubborn as a dead mule’s carcass blocking the way the demon had refused to surrender anything of his outfit past. She knew she should have argued further, maybe could even have won something close to casual, and she was paying for that now; the gorgeous brunette bizarrely dressed to the nines in a suit slacks, shirt and tophat that for once in its lifetimes was obeying gravity, hanging off the arm of a shockingly similar female mirror was drawing more attention and stares than any of the place’s attractions, slack jawed tourists’ gazes pulled from vibrant flashes of orange stripe fish in cramped tanks to linger hungrily on lines of muscle rippled beneath crisp button up, perfectly styled clean waves of locks and dusty cherub pouted plump lips.

“Come on.” She mumbled, pulling him away from the dozy turtles, indignity flaming hidden beneath a cheered easy grin as the eyes of the mother who had pushed her pram of wailing infant son to take their place, drilled, like nails, into the back of her skull as she dragged him off into the crowd who eagerly parted to accept them. “I’ve got something to show you.”

Dipper had always loved the seals, shyly poking his head out from behind her shoulder and clapping his tiny hands in rare expressions of delight whenever they’d saved enough pennies to buy tickets to Piedmont’s Seahouse and crept out the house in their younger years.   Mizar it seemed, hadn’t forgotten the animal – the demon’s smile brightening tenfold, easily slipping his body out of the arm dragging it across the floor, and striding, of his own accord, in wide, precise steps, up to the glass.  

Her brother was, surprisingly childlike, the immortally nineteen year old more nine, eyes widening in wonder as he pressed his face up against the panel, ignoring the flirtily batted lashes of the girl standing next to him who had perked and immediately thrusted her chest further out at his coming, and instead avidly staring at the sleek body effortlessly pulling off pivots and turns as it slipped through the water. She felt her body relaxing, lines of worry seeping away as wonder bubbled a giggle out of the boy’s throat, coaxing a new kind of smile to his lips – when her gut suddenly dipped and punched, the grin so innocent it tore guilt, churning her insides through a blender. He was her brother; he should be smiling like that all the time, not just surprise trips to seal exhibits at aquariums.

“They’re gorgeous,” he cooed, a laugh tickling as a whiskered snout pushed over his hand rested on the glass.

“I’m glad you like them.” She grinned, barely holding back her own giggle as the animal’s fin slapped over his hand in a weird, inter-species high five. ”Fin five.” She whispered, unable to hold back the snicker any longer at his confused expression. “He likes you too,” She explained breathlessly, in between sharp gasps of laughter.

He grinned like Grunkle Stan would when told he’d won the lottery.

She wondered, as they walked away an hour later, the boy stubbornly refusing to leave any earlier, the soft smile wiping, his face falling and form drooping in well-written disappointment, if it would have been better to have just left him there, happy and content with the animals, no mention of the hellish overlord waiting for him to come back home.

It was worrying the amount of time he spent at the section dedicated to jellyfish, especially the poisonous kind; an etch of concentration crinkling the corners of his lids as fingers traced his eyes’ path over first the plaque text, then the animal’s tendrils, a slow smile fixing, enjoying the description’s mentions of ‘instant death’ and ‘hours of agony’ far too much to possibly mean anything good.

“Fascinating.” He muttered, eyes locked on the ethereal wisps dancing to gently lulled rise and falls. She dragged him away quickly before he could crack the tank glass and pull one out for testing.

“No.” She glared, expression stony set, as she watched him break from his prowl, foot smashing the gift shop floor like some petulant toddler throwing a tantrum.

“But they were so beautiful!” He cried in protest. “Their severed head would look perfect above Bill’s headboard. Get it,” he snickered softly. “ _Headboard?”_  

“We’re here to look at the animals, not kill them,” Mabel explained for what felt like the thirtieth time. But it was only the fourteenth. She’d counted. She held up the fuzzy stuffed animal she’d plucked from off the shelf. “What about this one? It’s fuzzy!” _And perfectly legal_ she added silently.

His nose skewed, mouth curdling as he sneered at the fuzzy monstrosity held towards him. “I don’t think so.”

“Or this one, it’s _pink!”_ Her bright voice peaked and cracked, chirp worn, rising to near hysterics as she turned her back and dug her hands through the toy crate, yanking out a fuchsia carcass just as alarms and shrieks of horrified shouts wailed into existence.

Dread pooling in her stomach, she turned round, slowly, coming face to face with a triumphantly grinning Dipper, the boy unmoved from his spot, but now crisp clean white had stained to smear of burnt copper and in his arms, tucked safely between the crook of elbow and side, rested a blubbery grey lump, sleek head wet to droplets, clear and red, that ran in leaks down silvery cheeks, button nose and curved pout before dropping off drips of clinging pink tendril into empty space. Intelligent eyes froze into a blank stare, her mind crashing into shutdown as her gaze travelled over to where the flesh just abruptly _ended_.    

“See?” Dipper held the decapitated head up, a wide beam stretching from ear to ear. He patted over the rounded top of the skull proudly. “Just perfect.”

Mabel flinched as the girl, who couldn’t have been anything past six, standing behind them dropped the doll she’d been holding to her chest, and trying for the last five minutes, to convince her mother to buy, opened her mouth wide, took a deep breath and _screamed_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to regular updates, eh, eh? I’ll admit, that chapter’s been one I’ve known I was writing since the very beginning waaaaaay back when in June, fuck, June, can you even believe? I know I can’t, that time has gone fucking fast and now we come to the stress fest of Christmas, y’know, the last minute dash to find the perfect gift for the world’s fussiest person because you said you’d go shopping Wednesday but then Uma from the office invited you drinking and Thursday was raining and Friday was drinking games night-
> 
> Or maybe you’re actually organised and already have everything. I’m jealous. Or maybe you already had everything all bought and wrapped up in cute little sparkly paper with matching tags and cutesy little Christmas earrings in March. One word – obsessed. There are other holidays my friend – namely Easter, and who doesn’t love being able to stuff your face with as much chocolate as your mouth can humanly hold at one time and not get judged for it?
> 
> And here I am getting off track – or maybe that’s my mind trying to call it a night and sleep, but when I have I ever listened to that? (Never). It’s November, believe it or not, and I’ve been shirking my duties of showering you good people with the praise you deserve because holy shit this has 12k hits, soo many kudos and sooooooo many lovely comments. And damn I don’t even deserve half of those. Aw I love you guys, really. But in the platonic way because my goodness we haven’t even met and there’s always seventeen or so dates before you drop the ‘L’ word. But yes, I love you all (platonically)   
> ~ MUI


	48. Anger Management

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think you're doing it wrong Bill

Bill was less angry and more absolutely _pissed_. So rage inducingly violently furious, in fact, his eyes had long given up any semblance of calm and now sparked up in vehement bursts of intense flame, curls of steam spewing off the edges of crunched lids to the tempo of raggedly spat breaths. Business meetings were always so insanely boring with their mundane 3 hour briefings and coma-inducing dull subjects of politics and ugh, _wellbeing_. This particular one had been absolute murder and returning nearly an hour late because some snivelling, insignificant worm had been so close to pissing their pants they’d brought the wrong pen drive and instead of his glorious plans to conquer the universe Bill found himself looking at slides of a family trip to Barbados, to find his usual stress relief _missing_ from their room had left Bill the urge to indulge in a little brutal homicide of his own. His deep set scowl deepened, shadowed expression darkening as fingers moved together, pulling invisible strings tighter.

“What do you think,” he glanced once dismissively over the squirming bundle cowered at his feet, the thing absolutely pathetic as it attempted to worm its way away. It managed an inches before a well-placed kick to the side had it rolling back to place. “Five more minutes then another leg?”

The squirms intensified, movements suddenly becoming frantic, the wrapped body colliding over his ankles in their struggle. Muffled yelps sounded around the strip of greasy rag – he’d gagged the mongrel after all those interesting screams turned to those horrible clichés; I’m going to kill you, you monster, you demon, you devil, blah blah blah. Same old boring speech he’d heard nearly six million, seven hundred and eighty eight thousand, four hundred and three times. Yawn.

“Mmmm,” he mused along in agreement. The muffles quietened as he leaned, elegantly catlike, down, bringing his nose inches to the snivelling scarlet button of running sodden nose. A low moan escaped the captive as his hands extracted out of their clasp from behind his back to travel the lump, jagging elongated nails down bared skin that shivered, shuddering back in twitched up jerks as he travelled from chest to navel, then waist to lower, stopping abruptly over the solid edge of kneecap, the lump of bone brittle as soggy polystyrene beneath his grip.  

His captive audience – Bill threw his head back gently to a soft titter, a wide, mad grin pulling at the corners of furied slate. _Captive audience_ , oh that was a good one, how he cracked himself up – panicked, freezing up, seeming entirely struck dumb as he petted calming little licks of talons over the lump. The smile dropped, his laughter cut abruptly off to clumsy weighted silence, as if someone had just slashed out its gullet. “Thing is I’ve never been very patient.”

The frozen statue came to life, short quivers quickly jumping into hyperventilating rabbit uncontrolled leaps of jerks, the poor thing’s face draining, of colour and expression, as mouth disgustingly slavered bubbled sea froth of drool, eyes rolling back, quite madly in their place, as Bill _yanked_ , little strings of fleshy pink tearing, their strands simply ending, rather suddenly, scarlet pumping out abruptly as the life realised the stump was now half the size it was supposed to be; the limb coming off quite easily to fit snugly in his hand. He stared at the twig, lifting it to his face, eyes narrowing into thin, analytical slits as he sized it up before his lip curdled and he threw it behind his shoulder, tsking in distaste.  

“Oh come on, don’t die on me now, we’ve barely gotten started.” Bill snarled, a whimpered screech erupting life back into the half corpse as he viciously stomped his heel into the soft round of belly, the flesh coming to life to the scream, shaking hands drained pale scrabbling uselessly at their trappings to claw inches from rolling flabs of stomach.  

“ _Pathetic_.” He growled. _“_ You mortals are all so pitifully, stupidly _fragile_.” He whined. And it was true, his toy was nearly broken, whatever was left of sanity leaking away just a little more to each fresh tear pushed out of scrunched shut lids and spurt of crimson, heart ticking its jolly little countdown a little slower with each strike and snap of light roughhousing. A few little love taps and they’d been rolling off the ground, hacking up insides and shrieking their annoyingly loud lungs out. Honestly, Bill’s lip twitched in disgust as he eyed the mess. Drama Queen. It was a wonder the species had even managed to survive half as long as it had.

The fear rolling off their tiny form was absolutely dizzying in its deliciousness, the musky tang retching off that quivering, torn up mouth and those twisting screwed eyes ran an intoxicating rush like no other. Shoulders trembled, barely keeping it together as body and sanity revolted under the assault. A new interest bought life to bored cerulean as fingers clashed together in a sordid snap that rang the surrounding like a death knell, an incoherent garble pouring from the newly freed lips, the fast stream of agony quickly drowning into hysterics as Bill’s fingers crept back to the, now profusely bleeding, stump, surgeon’s gloves smearing from medical clean white to brilliant, vibrant red, stroking lovingly along twitching muscles’ inner side.

A boyish giggle hummed his throat, forcing out a manic mad _mad we’re all mad here_ cackle as it burst his lips when furiously rolling pupils stopped their orbits, locking gaze with his own. Mad bonkers cuckoo clocks insane. Mad angry, murderously _pissed_.  

“What’s the saying now?” Bill mumbled quietly to himself, his expression splitting, clipped perfectly sculpted arches of brow bending to a thoughtful frown. “Orange? No. Pear? No.” the frown deepened into a scowl. He lifted his hands from the rat, one snapping the end of glove painfully loud back against his wrist. “Mango, papaya, pineapple,” He counted down, descending into gutted snarls as frustration built. “No no no, wrong wrong wrong.”

Tall body seized taller, straight posture snapping straighter as the hand leapt to climb the air and eyes suddenly kindled brighter to an excited eureka. “Oh that’s it- KNIFE!” He cried happily. “A knife a day keeps the doctor away.” He grinned, the sick curve of sadism empty of any friendliness straining from blood-spattered ear to blood-spattered ear. His hand leapt forward and he struck, smashing the blade into the little space above belly button and digging it around contemplatively, occasionally lifting it half from the flab to hook  out a stretch of purplish pink organ before plunging it back in to root through the R-rated piñata once more.

“Now now, none of that.” He reprimanded softly as they made gurgles of strangled swears. “That’s not how we treat our playdate now, is it?”

Whether they agreed or not he didn’t know, didn’t care enough to listen to the response of either forced cajolement or another cursing of his name, he’d heard it all before and it was all getting so frightfully predictable and boring, so he simply blotted their reply and turned back to his game, rifling through body parts with all the glee of a mortician just handed a particularly juicy corpse. Which he guessed, he just had been.

A grin split the concentration off his face, the million watt beam the expression of a child just decided on exactly which toy to play with from the box.

He deftly drew the knife out, ripping a handful of stringy guts off the tip of the blade and holding them in his open palm, tiny globs peeling off to dangle between his fingers. Teehee, tickles. At last he turned his attention back to the prisoner, though found them entirely silent. “Aw don’t sulk now.” He cackled as he forced fingers – the gut gloops still hanging off their knuckles – into his mouth and yanked the lines to a smile.

“Thurn that frown upshide down!” he chirruped through them, still giggling as the insides slid off his flesh to drip in slimy puddles on his tongue.   

No response.

The fingers slipped out, frown the right way up as he glowered at his unappreciative audience. For a moment he wondered whether they were unconscious or dead. He snapped their face to the side with a heel, finding glazed eyes staring back and oh dear that was quite definitely not unconscious but very, very, dead.  If there was even a measurement for that sort of thing. And if there was Bill had just broken the metre. A pool of cracked jam jar blood, the trope of unseeing gaze staring straight ahead, a tongue lain helplessly in a pool of spittle swimming that flopped open mouth and a string of insides that probably shouldn’t be so outside gaping out a rather noticeable crevasse ditch blotting the entire stomach. Didn’t get much deader than that folks.

“Well ain’t that a shame?” he muttered, shaking his head sadly to himself before standing to face the teen who had finally chosen to make their long overdue appearance.

Two hands swung to his hips, the knife just fastened to his fingers as his brow snaked up and clipped tones rang out harsh. “And just what time do you call this mister?”

“Murder o’clock apparently.” Dipper drawled blasé, boredly glancing at the white sheen of corpse littered behind the yellow tailcoat ends. “Got you a present though.” He added, the younger demon drawing arms from his back and holding a lump of grey matter up proudly out to the murderer, mocha eyes shyly searching his lover’s to quietly seek approval.

“Aw baby,” Bill cooed, feeling his rage slide away in the way that only seeing Dipper could do. Somehow he could never stay that mad at those gorgeous doe rounds that met his own with utter worship and adoration. Maybe he was going soft in his old age but covered in blood and offering the severed head of an adult grey seal as if his very existence depended on his master liking it, Dipper was absolutely adorable.

Remedied, Bill purred, gently reaching to take the head and tucking it under his arm. He crept forward, teasingly ruffling curls out of their perfect place and pecking the boy lightly on the forehead before gathering him in to his chest and crushing his lips over cherub dust pink for a proper hello. The lines parted, eagerly letting him in. A soft moan sounded around his tongue as Dipper shuddered, burying his body to melt deeper into the form against his own. Bill suspected if the youth had a tail it would be avidly wagging away like an affection-starved dog possessed.

He pulled away finally, breathless and panting; a thin ghost of silver dew, outlined against sun kissed caramel tan, slipping down the edge of his jaw.  He nicked a finger over his opposite’s blushing cheek, caressing a stripe down  the burning flesh to catch under the chiselled jaw. “I love it.”

Dipper went limp in his touch and Bill took full advantage, sliding his other hand down the boy’s neck, the boy stilling as he briefly played over a nipple before falling to stroke hips, even with only the one arm easily plucking the boy into air. Dipper’s head lulled as he released his hold of the jaw, the boy’s ear tucking deeply into his chest as the chin fell forward to nudge over the collar’s triangle motif. Eyes fluttered sleepily, a yawn escaping the pout with the ferocity of a lion mid-roar. Whatever and wherever the kid had been and doing had left the poor thing quite exhausted.

“Come on kiddo, time for beddy byes, so close those eyes.” Bill coaxed. He lowered his head, playfully butted their noses together, before tearing his gaze from the sleepy beauty and looking forward, straight once more, carrying the boy like a princess into the dragon’s lair. Knights were so terribly overrated and he could think of so many better things to do hundreds of thousands of kilometres of miles better than riding off into the sunset.

He mentally fluffed pillows in preparation, the silk coming alive, pulled back by invisible hands as lowered the already half dozing boy gingerly into the covers. A pang of loss needled at what had once been heart but was now blackened char, the being already missing the youth’s presence, and he quickly slipped in himself, pressing his body closer, desperate to recover what had been lost, crowding into personal space and enjoying the feeling of the furnace-warm skin flushed as it leaned hungrily against his own. Not for the first time Bill found himself extremely glad he’d never quite lost his temper so much to absolutely obliterate the young previously nemesis.

He absently fondled over swells of chocolate tangle, peppering whatever the flesh in reach with quick, obsessive pecks of lips and hard nibbles, canines gathering clumps of cream together and pressing tight, drawing away to leave point ingrains already blooming furious red. Dipper whined, the sound long and needy, mewling as he turned his own figure closer in search of the kiss’s source, snuggling into the other like a moth hungrily drawn to the light of each touch.   

Bill’s expression relaxed, though it kept the same manic expression, the eyes still holding that obsessive, possessive glint as they traced the slope of shoulders to the supple curves and rippled muscles suggested beneath the blankets, lines that where strong once were now near invincible, their busts so marbled if it wasn’t for the flutter of trapped bird heartbeat and soft rise to fall of expansive chest they could easily have been made from the very same stone. It was no secret that demonification looked good on the kid.

Bill detached one hand to rub over the neat lines, a thick bubble of want stewing the surfaces of his mind as he played over the thinly raised bump of triangle carving, the other still thoughtfully raking through the cotton bird nest.

“Hush little Pine Tree, don’t say a word,” He sang comfortingly, silvery melodic.

“Bill’s going to buy you a mockingbird,

And if that mockingbird won’t shut up,

Bill’s gonna rip its little throat out to a bloody pulp

And if Mr Mockingbird continues to sing,

Bill’s gonna tear its heart out and dangle it on string.

And if then, Mr Mockingbird’s still alive,

Bill’s gonna wring his fucking neck until he dies.”

Dipper cooed, whining softly at the verse break. So needy, such a slut for attention. Bill grinned; his hand remaining on the boy’s belly, continuing to stake a claim long after the triangle had been fully lapped

 “You’re so needy,” he told the teen. “Such a slut. A slut for me.” He emphasized as the youth choked, struggling on the trill of a purr as Bill slipped his hand behind their ear and stroked a strip under their chin.

“Biiiiiill,” the teen whined unashamedly, bright orbs momentarily lifting their windows open to stare lustily at the other loomed over them.

“Yeah Pine Tree? What is it?”

“Need you,” they moaned breathily through a yawn.

“Don’t worry, you got me baby.” Bill soothed, nuzzling his face into the slope of neck just below the curls’ end and rocking his partner gently off to tranquil waves calmly lapped against shoreline. Far too gently than anyone would ever have thought the monstrous being ever capable of. “I’m all yours.”

It was odd, no matter how many times he said it, the feeling still foreign. He hadn’t decided yet whether he liked it or not. But it was true, he knew that from the tingle of his lips and lower as the words flayed off his tongue. Dipper Pines may well be owned body, soul and heart, Bill Cipher’s, but even without a contract to confirm it, Bill Cipher’s heart was just as much Dipper Pines’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, been a while since we had some nice mutilation eh? And from our favourite demon overlord too. Bill Cipher is my spirit animal and I'm still undecided whether that's a good thing. Gonna keep this short because I am quite simply exhausted, as in passed out on the floor yesterday exhausted. So you enjoy that chapter and I'm going to take some much needed nap time.
> 
> ~ MUI


	49. Kentucky Fried Customer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Pizza Hut A Pizza Hut, Kentucky Fried Customer and a Pizza Hut

“Mabel sweetie, are you sure?” Stan eyed the girl warily. His fingers crept up to his tie, tugging at the noose nervously.

“Positive, Grunkle Stan.” Mabel chirped back, offering the reluctant elder her brightest smile. They didn’t return it, lips staying thinned to a set line as crinkled eyes ringed by doubt and dragged down by darkened bags instead continued to look back at her. She chose to ignore it, breezing on. “This’ll work, trust me.”

“I do.” The conman grouched, turning from his niece to stare at his demon great nephew. The immortal teen was perched, head thrown to stare wildly right back, hands clasped tightly over the desk edges, giggling as he carelessly breezed his legs off the counter, for all the world looking like an immature child. Far cry from the psychopathic murderer the salesman now knew him as. Innocent eyes turned hungry as the boy met and held the challenge of the stare. To see what used to be bright, if a little downcast rounds so malicious was unnerving to say the least and Stan found himself quickly looking back to the safer twin, his sunken cheeks springing newly red as they blushed, as if the man had been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. “It’s him I don’t trust.” He finished gruffly.

“Psscht, it’ll be fine.” Mabel’s smile forced wider. She waved a hand out in front of her in a cheery disregarding arc. “This’ll go great, just you see. He’ll remember you, he’ll remember me, he’ll remember who he was before Bill got his horrid claws in his mind, and then we’ll have Dipper back, good as old.”

Stan’s eyebrow crept up, a loud snort, too sudden to be bit back, his nose scrunching to show exactly how far she had managed to convince him. “It’s a plan. Plans never go well for Pines.” He told her, tone deathly serious, shaking his head slowly. He yanked once more at his tie before clutching the eight ball staff close to his chest and staggering off to count taxes. The day might only just have begun but something told him he’d need the booze, and a lot of it, if he were to stay sane through the coming hours.

Mabel smiled, shaking her own head as she approached her brother. Wouldn’t work? Or course it would! Stan didn’t know what he was talking about. Everything would go perfectly and she’d have Dipper an upstanding and law-abiding (or as much law-abiding as the next Pines) member of society by next daybreak.

“No.” Dipper hissed for the thirteenth time. He’d puffed up in rage and indignation, stubbornly repeating the word ever since she’d explained the day’s plan to him. “I’m a demon, darling. Most powerful being in the universe. I don’t do manual labour.”

Mabel eyed him, her hands falling to her hips, the fierce tone not matching up to the sweet smile forced on her lips. “You want my soul right? Then you gotta do what I say.” He growled, expression darkening and looking like he wanted nothing better than to leap and separate her head from shoulders, but he didn’t make any further protest and she grinned, triumphant, taking that as a sign of victory.

“And that, can’t you,” she gestured helplessly with her hands to the fires swirling the Big Dipper across his forehead. “…switch it off?”

He growled, huffing. But suddenly the caramel had retracted to mocha, the bonfires had fizzled back into unmoving red pocks. The waistcoat flickered, blipping in and out then totally faded away of reality, with invisible strings rolling sleeves of the crisp shirt beneath up to his elbows, those same unseen fingers pulling an unwrapped loose strip of beetle black bow tie into existence to cover over the dog collar. The severe jet slacks shifted to soft baby blue denim and grew gashes, patches ripping off the spaces over knees and shins to tear to ratty remains, leaving Dipper looking so heartbreakingly Dipper like.

“Perfect.” She beamed, fishing one of the many stickers stored in her pockets out along with a glittery marker. She quickly scribbled “ _Hi, my name is Mizar, how can I help you today?_ ” onto the canvas, peeled it off and slapped it over the boy’s breast. “Now let’s get to work!”

Dipper didn’t remember her, or Stan or his previous life. Even after three hours of working the gift shop floor he was still adamant his name was Mizar, that he’d never met her before their bargain and that Bill was his (entirely mad in all senses of the word) bestie. The smile plastered over her lips felt as plastic as ever as she devolved into a panicked squawk, abandoning the man she’d been attempting to schmooze into buying a ratty scarf and hurrying over to where the demon was leaned over the till, chatting to an obviously enraptured teen, the girl’s eyes so blown wide as they stared adoringly at Dipper Mabel was surprised they hadn’t already detonated out of her head. She quickly grabbed the girl’s arm, who obviously unhappy at the interruption snarled in response. Mabel ignored the “Hey what the hell man!” determinedly dragging them away from the devil and off to look at the keyring section before they could shake the hand that had casually extended out over the counter to them.

Now happy one of their customers weren’t about to sign their life away, Mabel left them to sulkily paw through merchandise and shoot mournful glances over their shoulder back towards the till. She saw the man she’d been talking to earlier moving towards the counter, scarf successfully schmoozed, and quickened her steps, moving in front of them, practically stampeding past and near sprinting back to her brother who was smiling, eyes twinkling devilish mirth as he beamed so innocently she wouldn’t have batted an eye if a blue halo suddenly burst into existence over his head.

“You, me, now.” She growled, taking him by the collar and dragging him off, aware of every customer’s curious stare on the two of them as she yanked him out of sight to the back room. Scarfy’s brow snaked up in question and she mumbled “Lunch break” in explanation as they dashed past.

She practically threw Dipper through the storeroom frame, stepping to join him in the cramped space and near slamming the door. The smile fell from her mouth as she whirled, bristling furious, to face him.

“We do not trick customers into eternal servitude to the dark side.” She sharply admonished, hissing in rage as he burst into a fit of ill-timed giggles.

“No, we just scam them out of everything but the space in their wallets.” Dipper happily chirped after he’d recovered, his back turned as he fell into a chorus of oohs and ahs, fingers rifling out contents of storage boxes heaped on shelves. He didn’t even bother to turn round to look at her, not even slightly ashamed at what he’d been about to do or being caught in the act.

“Besides,” the youth continued, flicking his head to the side to finally glance over, the boy’s mouth stretching to alien lengths to accommodate an impossibly wide, 1000 watt grin. He turned back, attention now set on the snowglobe hefted in his fingers, experimentally throwing it up and catching it to test weight, as if to know how hard it would impact on someone’s head. “She couldn’t keep her hands off me, you saw. Little bitch was practically begging to be eaten.”

Mabel sucked in a sharp breath at the casual drop of cannibalism, eying the sharpened canines newly jutting out of her twin’s pink gums with new horror. “We don’t eat customers either.” She added hurriedly.

“Not even a teensy little nibble of a pinkie off?” Dipper inquired, voice innocent as he abandoned the snowglobe to run his fingers over a dusty old box hidden away in the corner.

Mabel's shoulders twitched to an exasperated sigh. “Not even.”

“Oh you’re no fun.” The demon complained sulkily. The words droned out, disinterested as he flipped the lid of the box open, exaggeratedly blowing the smog of kicked up dust out of his face and reaching in to search through the contents. “Hey oh girlio, what’s this?” his voice crept up, suddenly almost hysterical, as he lifted out a lump of blue white, gingerly, as if afraid one wrong move and the thing would go up in flames. Mabel let go of the breath she’d been holding. Dipper had found one of the trucker hats. Stan must have boxed them all up and put them away out of reach in the storeroom.

“Feels kinda familiar.” The teen whispered brokenly, his brows bunching, frown lines gathering. His face screwed to confusion as he stared at the hat sat in his hands. “Like I’ve seen it somewhere before.”

“You should try it on.” Mabel was speaking before she even realised, the lump in the back of her throat building as hope fluttered brighter in her chest.

“Yes ma’am.”  Dipper snapped out of his trance to purr in a way so Bill Mabel felt her heart grind to a stop then shakily restart. He flipped a jaunty, if a little sarcastic, salute, though hesitantly slapped the cap over his curls, a distant look passing over his eyes as he tugged it into place, fingers lingering to clutch on the brim.

She snatched a tacky cheaply made compact up off a shelf, opening it and offering it to the boy with shaking hands. He stared back at his reflection as if he’d seen a ghost, his eyes glazing to stricken horror and face slowly draining of colour until it was nothing but a pale white sheet.

“Dipper?” she whispered, her voice ragged to hope that rose, spiralling up as he turned, looking so familiar in the almost constant accessory.

Only for those hopes to drop off a cliff and dash on the rocks littered below as a snarl tore his lips out of shape and into a Cipher approved sneer. “Who the fuck is Dipper?”

Mabel’s lips gaped to a forlorn pout. Her face fell, her chin jutting, trembling. She gave a strangled moan, the first tracks of tears already threatening to spill out. She blinked them angrily away. Like it would be that easy? Bill would never make it so that just sticking a hat on a head would fix everything all right up again. Of course it would never be so simple. She’d been a fool for ever thinking it would.

"He's,"  _You_. "No one." Mabel finished sadly, her voice cracking as it forced the syllables out.

“You keep it.” She shook her head as a no when he slid it off his head, almost reluctantly, and offered it back to her. “A gift.”

He smiled at that, soft and unsure, rubbing his thumb over the blue pine tree printed into the hat’s middle. Again, it was so Dipper like, so innocent and childish that it _hurt_ , the space above her heart twisting sickeningly as her gut punched, dunking her unceremoniously in a vat of invisible freezing cold water.

She watched him cautiously through her lashes. It may not be the break through she’d hoped, but it certainly wasn’t nothing. It was a start, small as it may be, and that was a positive and Mabel could always afford any little positives.

“Come on,” she murmured gently, taking his hand. He let her. “We should get back before Stan sees we’re gone and docks the pay.”

* * *

 

Stan shakily knocked back the last dregs, thumping the now empty bottle back onto his desk to join the other six. He’d been drinking more and more – not an alcoholic, just an enjoyer – going through an average of seven bottles a day ever since Dipper had died. And then come back.

Stan growled out a sigh, scrubbing the last dribbles of liquid off his chin. He leaned back, staring guiltily at the ceiling. One day he’d tell Mabel. He’d been meaning to come clean to the girl for a long time, but then Dipper re-appeared and she’d made a deal with him and Ford had kept spinning off the deep end, retreating further and further from society as he desperately searched for some solution to end Cipher once and for all. And after that he just hadn’t found a time good enough.

She deserved to know. And she would. But not now. For now he kept it secret, letting the girl run the shack and keeping to his room, drowning his guilt in the seven a day diet. She’d hate me for it, he told himself morosely. And he wouldn’t blame her. After all, all this was his fault. He’d known Cipher would have plans for the boy ever since that first time the child had picked up the hat – the symbol on Cipher’s wheel. A cruel joke, he’d muttered to himself, face draining of colour as the next day he locked the rest of the hats away in the storeroom, hoping that if the original was lost and a replacement couldn’t be found the boy would just forget about it. He stayed silent on the twin’s adventures, lying when they badgered him over the supernatural, convincing himself to stay quiet and do nothing more but watch, not wanting to believe that the demon would stoop so low as to involve a twelve year old. A twelve year old for fuck’s sake.

Everything had been going well – or as well it did for any Pines. Dipper and Mabel were suspicious but not yet enough to go confrontational, Gideon was being a little shit as always but the twins, little geniuses that they were, had defeated him and got the Shack back. And the portal had been coming along, almost ready to activate. Stan was going to get his brother back, Dipper and Mabel would finally get to meet the author, summer would finish up and all four of them would be one big happy go sappy family. Bill Ciphers and pine tree hats were just background noise in his head.

And then Cipher had almost killed the boy.

Sitting in the hospital, listening to the nurse rant about child abuse until red faced and looking at him as if he’d been the one to rip his arm back and slug his ward in the face was tough. But seeing Dipper after was even rougher. Mabel recovered, returning to her normal bright, glitter-obsessed self after little over a week. Dipper didn’t. Any of the confidence the boy had scraped together over his stay had near totally disappeared, jumped up anxiety instead retaking their place. Eyes ran warily to corners of the room, lips stretching into a grimace and sound breaking into a panicked mewl at any movement. The kid leapt half a mile at his own shadow for months afterwards.  

He watched and he waited. But Cipher had gone completely silent. Dipper and Mabel left and returned and still there was no sign of Ford’s ‘muse.’ Years passed, summers spent and still there was nothing. It was like the demon had never existed. It was almost enough for Stan to forget about him, but each sight of the now scruffy blue white was enough of a reminder to keep it from fading into distant memory. Cipher may have gone but Dipper still kept rigid hold of his hat, his symbol. And Stan figured dealing with that sort of demon would never finish up so easily.

And he’d been right.

Six years later and Cipher had come back, before disappearing again. Except this time he’d taken his great nephew with him.

Stan choked out a low sob. He slowly raised bottle no.8 to his lips and guzzled a long, drawn sip, chugging almost half the thing in one go. He scraped his fingers over his cheeks before pulling them into the throng of silver mess clipping the beginning of his neck.

He’d tell her. One day. Just not today.

* * *

 

To his immense annoyance and the new bed’s misfortunes, Dipper was gone when Bill woke up. 

“Wow Pine Tree, you sure are quiet for once-“ Bill purred, rolling over and stretching an arm out to the other body, only for the limb to pass through empty air and pat the other side of a pillow now remarkably lacking in the chocolate curls variety. Dipper was gone, again, had left, again. Without a word of even saying where or when he’d be back. It wasn’t that Bill was annoyed his oh so comfy body pillow had suddenly and inexplicably gone walkabouts, it was just that Dipper, amnesiac and explicitly conditioned just the way Bill liked him, was supposed to be undyingly loyal. Undyingly loyal meaning he beg permission with that sinful slick tongue of his, grovelling on hands and knees bent to adoring worship instead of just upping and pulling a Houdini disappearing act.

Bill growled, the sound soon building to a full scream as he vented his frustrations on the furniture. Not that it mattered, he could always just magic up another one later as replacement. He huffed, breathing quickly, in and out, in and out, in sharp spits of gags, slowly and reluctantly extracting his nails off the gash holes gouged into the headboard. A low gurgle pressed his throat as he opened his lips and spat a single tuft feather free for it to float gently down to join its brethren on the ruined mess.

He paused, shoulders trembling. He wiped a hand through messy caramel to tug wavy chaos back into order, his eyes forced wide open as breath slowly evened and composure swam painstakingly back. Bill was not best pleased, and when Dipper came back, adorably dressed in blood or not, there would be Hell to pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas - NOT! It's cold and wet and windy and somehow I'm still sick. Yeah this feels fair. Change of view for once, poor Stan. I really am killing this family and funnily enough not feeling guilty over it. Cipher really is my spirit animal then.
> 
> Ever so casual drop of flesh eating aside, Dipping Sauce done fucked up, so next week sees Bill reinstating his title of the Big Bad Boss. Teehee, girlish glee. Oh I just can't wait.
> 
> And we passed the 700 kudos mark. Like what the heck when did that happen? Ah well, kudos again to you all for being so nice and awesome (I really will get round to answering those lovely comments, promise, it's just that at the moment I'm practically stumbling round the city still half-asleep as the walking dead)  
> ~ MUI


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season's Greetings to one and all!
> 
> We're back, yes we're back, but sadly only for a day, and yes I know it's not exactly what you want to hear, me already being away for a couple of days (ahem weeks) and I really am sorry for that, but you know when your mind gets so overworked it just crashes and burns into a slump? Yeah that happened and I just could not get into the mood to write this. Which felt absolutely awful, but never fear, the inspiration's back (oh you betcha it is, and probably helped along by the fact that whoo boy Bill is p-i-s-s-e-d and out to punish some one, or three).
> 
> Like with all my stuff, I'm taking a little break, just for the holidays (it certainly feels like I need it) but hey, I might sneak a little something in on Christmas Day. Because you know, presents and giving and all that. Not that I have much to give except a few thousand words or so yanked out of my brain, you'd probably prefer socks.
> 
> Merry Christmas  
> ~ MUI

“…And this is, was, Waddles,” The girl, Mandy but not Mandy because she’d introduced herself with a slight shudder and the kind of small, grieving smile you didn’t have to be an all powerful dream demon to see through, finished, a drop of tear collecting at the corner of her eyes that she quickly swept off. She snivelled, fingers lingering on the outline of the pink animal before hurriedly thumbing the next page, announcing

“And this is Great Uncle Stu-“

Far too brightly for a child that had just breezed over the death of their favourite childhood pet. She was lying again, her shoulders all hunched up to her neck and the lightest tremor to her voice if you listened carefully enough, as she raced through each of the pictures taped into the page of the book practically glued into his lap by her hand. She was pressed up against him, squashed so tightly to his hip they may well have been two beings meshed into one, the battered old couch he was forced to share with her angrily groaning beneath their two shared weight. He’d sneered when she’d pulled the leather-bound cover off the shelf, its front flush against her heart as she’d approached him, that same steely determination she always had whenever they did such activities reflected in her eyes.

He’d sneered down his nose, contempt open and unhidden, but allowed her to crawl into the space next to him – or lack thereof – and open the damn thing, thrusting it into his lap as much as it was in hers so that he was eventually forced to look at it. The print was messy, scribbles of arrows linking each photo in some mad mash-up, their orders jammed together in a chaotic mess of different angles in a way that left him quite sure the one behind the strips of sticky tape had been certifiably insane.

The boy, Max, another lie, this one the clearest of all to the point where tears actually escaped when she confessed he was away on holiday, was in most of them, not by choice, if the scowls, thrown up hands and blurred form mid-dash were anything to go by. The face, same mocha nest very much like his own if the curls had refused to temper, same widened, adventurous look that would have been an exact replica of his own if the colours had matched, strung up some strange chord resonating his insides like a harp string continuously being plucked and soon his exasperated huffs at the turning of a new page had quietened down to a concentrating silence and he found himself looking for the boy, her brother, if she was telling the truth, more often, searching for that elusive blue puffer vest and orange t-shirt which had quickly been established as a staple of his. Not that he would ever tell her – he refused to give her the satisfaction he might be possibly feeling some sort of anything besides clean, clinical killing intent towards a  _human._ She’d never shut up about it.

 “Our twelfth birthday.”

He leans forward, his own finger taking the place of hers to trace the boy, his face squashed against his sister’s, in a rarity seen only once in a century and probably not to happen again before at least the next half had padded, both the siblings were smiling, grinning widely up at the camera. Even rarer was that the boy was making no attempt to escape it, happily beaming along with his twin as their two heads bobbed over a cake, twelve candles drilled into the messy layer of half pink, half blue frosting, anything other than the tips of the static flames hidden beneath hearty scoops of glitter dust and sprinkles.

He recognised the grey-haired elder,  _Great Uncle Stu,_ standing proudly behind the boy, meaty hands clasped over his shoulders. But behind the girl stood the same exact man, a perfect mirror except for mad-scientist style goggles lashed over his scalp, the longer than normal sideburns sticking to the side of his face and the stuffy woollen turtle neck clinging up to his throat.

“Who,” is that? He wants to rasp, but he is cut off, breath short-circuiting as suddenly his insides are assaulted to rage, Bill’s rage, burning supernova at a level he had never experienced before and his body is already responding, already moving, fingers sliding off the page, the strange clone forgotten as he rises from his seat so hastily he almost tumbles out of it.

His face blanched as heat blistered so far it turned something close to cold, almost crying in pain to the numbing, painful chill sweeping his senses.

“I gotta go.” He stammered, barely able to breathe as Bill’s rage pulsed the body of the triangles over his chest and shoulder to burning point, wisps of steam curling off them as the shirt he’d thrown over his head that morning began to singe and smoulder.

He knew that she was worried, her little eyes falling wide, plates doubling in size to the abject terror that had forced their change, and she shouted something, desperately reaching after him, but he didn’t hear it.

Summoned to his master, he was gone.

…

Dipper did not return adorably covered in anyone’s blood and that made Bill even more pissed. He’d have been a teensier bit forgiving if the kid had been busy painfully mutilating an idiot to the point of unconscious only to bring them back round and start the entire delightful ordeal again (maybe) but that he’d been preoccupied by something  _not_ R-rated was truly unforgivable.

“On the bed now.” He barked. And Mizar, sensing now really wasn’t the time to argue his Master’s orders, hurriedly obeyed, practically throwing himself onto the covers before Bill could snatch him up off the ground and do it for him.

“Kid, you know I hate doing this.” Bill lied as he yanked down the slacks blocking Dipper’s hips. Skin now free, he dipped a claw over the exposed welted cheek, a flush of satisfaction spreading in his stomach at Dipper’s kittenish whimper, the sound muffled through the rag of gasoline soaked leather thrust past his lips.

“But you know,” Bill continued, crouching down till he was level with Dipper’s face. Not that the boy could see much through the carthorse blankers lacing their way over his head, the patches totally obscuring the kid’s sight, though Bill knew the eyes under were scrunched shut, each word crooned and touch sending them to clench further.

“It has to be done.” He purred, snapping out a hand to yank tufts of mocha and Dipper, his sense of touch amplified through loss of others, was unable to stop himself from giving a stifled howl of surprise at the sudden action. He made to back away, an effort the bindings jumping into existence, securing his feet and wrists in the same knot quickly made useless. He quivered in place, practically vibrating with terror, only able to speculate what was coming next.

“You know what happens when you break the rules.” Bill coaxed, voice light cinnamon as he leaned back in, dragging his mouth down Dipper’s ear, gently at first, before the canines sharpened out to monstrous fangs and he bit down, harder till bloody. Another mewl escaped the edges of the rag as he let go, the flesh beneath his lips slick and sodden through as crimson spurted from newly-created puncture holes.

He offered a finger, skimming it over the wounds, closing them up, relief slackening the teen’s features as he did so. “And babe,” His voice hardened, relaxing grip tightening with it. “You just threw the rulebook out the dimensional portal.”

At that nails slipped to talons, the claws quickly ripping tissue from tissue, the gag not enough to separate the scream that barged its way out of Dipper’s lungs as his ear was snatched, ripped away in one fell go from his skull, a bloody abyss left where the round curve should be. His body juddered forward tipsily, screams quickly descending into panicked wheezes as Bill’s fingers shifted their attention to the other air, stroking up and down the shell.

 “See when my things break, I have two options.” Bill unfurled his body languidly, an arm breezing the heavens as it passed his own, still attached ear, muscles coiling and uncoiling as he stretched like a feline trapped in human form. “I either throw them totally away, never to be seen from or heard of ever again, or I take them apart, piece by piece, and stitch them back up the right way until they’re not.” His hand fell from its upwards push to lovingly caress the gaping black hole, the curls around it soaked a rusted coppery rouge.

“You’re not broken, are you baby?” He purred into the hole. “Because I would really, really hate to have to separate that beautiful, angel face from those shoulders.”

He felt the kid’s body rock, pitching uneasily beneath the now fist clamped to rest off their right shoulder. A steady line of water was oozing its way down past the blankers, tight snivels twitching the nose in jumped-up jerked actions, and with a dramatized sigh, Bill reached his other hand up, whipping the obscuring patches away.

Bleeding out and with those eyes frightened to three times the size he looked adorably like a puppy. A blood-eviscerated puppy.

“You want to make this all stop?” His voice was barely human now, it thrummed, humming with a darkened sort of power that betrayed its true origins. “Tell me where you’re running to, and then I might make it bearable, enjoyable even.”

It was a bare-faced lie. There was no way he’d ever make any kind of punishment for disobeying him enjoyable and both of them knew it. Not that he felt a single shred of guilt for saying it, anyone to think he ever would was barking up the wrong, mass-murderer, dimension slaughtering pine tree.

“Gravity Falls.” Mizar whimpered miserably, long drips of lashes batting back further dewdrops. He snuffled, curling in on himself in an effort to look as small as possible.

“ **What?”**

And if Bill had been mad before you could bet he was  **pissed**  now.

“There’s a girl in Gravity Falls. It was just a dumb deal-“

“ **Name.”**

“Nothing can go wrong and I’m going to get her so-“

“ **NAME!”**

Bill watched in horror as a mouth opened, lips parting to form a shape suddenly switching, as if slapped, to form another. Caramel clouded mocha, smouldering, soft hot chocolate brown as Mizar took a greedy breath and whined. “Pines. Mabel Pines.”

Bill’s universe exploded the clearest, bloodiest red as he decimated the ground running twenty metres round his feet. Huge spiderwebs of cracks ran up the walls as the ceiling trembled, debris and dust falling in landslides to decorate huge chunks into the crumbling, opened-up ground. He had warned the bitch what happened when she messed with his things.

**“You. I’ll deal with you properly later.”**

“Bill I-“ Dipper babbled, realizing finally quite how badly he’d fucked up, that he wasn’t going to be walking away with just an absent ear to regen. Bill’s fingers snapped and Dipper fell silent, mouth still working but no volume coming out.

Bill snarled, absolutely seething in rage, not caring to untie the boy before he disappeared from the spot. He had tried to be a gentleman, tried to be the bigger person and left them the fuck alone, he’d even been so kind as not totally obliterate her entire gene pool when he found out she’d summoned her brother and tried to take him away. Again. He’d warned her, she had only her own stupid, foolish self to blame. His fingers itched, sputters of flame sparking on and off again in anticipation as he stalked his way up the front lawn, stomping up to the front door and lifting his palm to the very ancient, very flammable, wood. It was time he finally deal with a particular pest problem of his, once and for all.


End file.
